


From the Ashes

by 1917farmgirl



Series: Gravel on the Ground [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Long Lost/Secret Relatives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/pseuds/1917farmgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <img/>
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  <p>Some people, they're important. They're born with destinies, courage, bravery. They have tasks to accomplish. Vital things like saving the world. But some people... Some people slip through the cracks. For them, it takes everything they have just to save themselves.</p>
  <p>Book 2 in the "Gravel on the Ground" series.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Gravel on the Ground**

**Author’s Note:** As a general rule, I try to keep notes short and unobtrusive, but this story is such a beast I simply cannot send it out into the world without a bit of explanation. This story is huge so it will be divided into several different novels. The name of the whole series is “Gravel on the Ground,” but each short story or novel will have its own title within the series. No, it isn’t completely written yet. Yes, I know how many other stories I have going. But this story wanted out.

I’ve borrowed a concept for this story from another fandom. In the TV series Charmed (created by Constance M. Burge and Aaron Spelling) strong magic is passed down through the women in a family, and each witch usually inherits skills that focus on one of three abilities: moving objects, manipulating time, or mental abilities like seeing the past or future. I’ve made my characters descended from the same magical line – the Warren family – which means that they have these magical traits, but because they are combined with the form of magic used in Harry Potter, they have been altered slightly. It explains the ability to do wandless magic easier than usual and a few unique characteristics, but that’s the only connection to Charmed. This isn’t meant to be a crossover between the show and the Harry Potter books.

I intend to remain as faithful as possible to the plots and events of all the books, with a few exceptions:  
1\. The inclusion of original characters in events they obviously weren’t present for.  
2\. The appearance of characters may reflect the movie characters more than the book versions.  
3\. When I read the books, they seemed to be sort of timeless. I had no idea they were set in a specific year until I read DH and saw the dates on Lily and James’ tombstone. I was a little peeved, as it messed with my mental image of things, but I digress. Anyway, to make this story work with things I have planned farther down the line, I needed to adjust the HP dates. I have added five years to the HP timeline, pushing it forward slightly, but it really shouldn’t change anything for readers.

Also I consider all the “extra” information JKR has given us about characters that wasn’t included in the actual books to be “suggestions” rather than canon. I don’t want to know everything! It doesn’t leave my imagination any room to play!

 **Special thanks to** Smuffly for being the heart behind this story and loving it as much as I do. For hours of endless plot help, encouragement, reading and re-reading, and editing. For making me keep writing it, and convincing me to post it. Without her, this story wouldn’t exist, so, Smuffly, this story is for you.

 **Disclaimer:** The characters, settings, and world of the Harry Potter books are created by J.K. Rowling and belong to her. Only the original characters and the story idea belong to me. I make no profit from this.

 

**Gravel on the Ground: “From the Ashes”**

_….watch me rise like smoke from fire._

_watch me fly above your hate._

_watch me dance upon your meanness  
like a ballerina with posture; grace._

_watch me laugh over your hatred;  
watch me soar above your sea of grief._

_And know that i am out there_

_somewhere…_

\- Coco J. Ginger

*****

**Prologue**

The rain was pouring down in sheets, turning the streets to dirty rivers full of garbage and covered with the slick sheen of oil from the millions of automobiles that drove the city day and night. It was only early evening but the storm had made it prematurely dark.

In the shadows outside of a deli a young girl crouched, huddled inside a ragged sweatshirt that did nothing to keep out the rain. She sat unmoving in the downpour, despite being soaked completely through, her dark, haunted eyes gazing longingly at the warm light spilling from inside the little shop. Occasionally, a small, pale hand darted out and wiped the drops of water from the glasses on her face before disappearing again.

Night came and the shadows turned to true darkness, yet still the girl sat there shivering, her bare feet pulled up into her dirty skirt in a desperate bid for a little warmth. Finally, the back door of the deli opened and a figure emerged, lugging a bag to a waiting dumpster. The girl sat up hopefully, but her face quickly fell as the light revealed the person in full.

It wasn’t the one she’d been hoping for.

“You, girl!” a harsh voice suddenly cut through the night, muted slightly by the pounding rain but fierce just the same. The girl shrank back against the wall. “Get out of here!”

She didn’t move.

“I said git!” the woman shrieked, grabbing a nearby broom and advancing slightly. “Or I’ll call the police this time for real!”

Fear shot through the girl at those words. She scrambled up and dashed off, her bare feet splashing through the filthy water.

There would be no food again tonight.

Trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at her stomach, she weaved and dodged between the crowds of umbrella-bearing people who were hurrying to their destinations with heads down, anxious to be warm and dry. Even in the rain, New York City never slept.

Eventually, she slipped into a narrow alley. It didn’t block the rain entirely, but it was lessened in its force. She made her way to the back where an ancient awning clung to the side of the building, sheltering a long ago boarded up window and ducked underneath.

From behind her glasses, her brown eyes scanned the darkness as she pulled a threadbare blanket from the corner and wrapped it around herself. She was looking for the flash of smoky, gray fur. For the last four nights that she’d slept in this spot, the gray cat had showed up each evening and stayed for an hour or so before disappearing. But tonight, there was no sign of the friendly animal.

A deep feeling of loneliness overwhelmed her and she hung her head. She hadn’t realized how much that hour of companionship each night had meant until it was gone. Worried, she hoped the cat was okay and had simply moved on.

Wet, hungry, and miserable, she huddled back into the corner and closed her eyes, preparing to endure the night.

Sleep claimed her and for once the nightmares stayed at bay, until her heart stopped in terror when a voice invaded her dreams.

“Hey, girl, wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open and she cowered back instinctively in fear, looking for a way out before she actually took in the sight before her.

A strange, old woman crouched before her, blocking the entrance to her awning and her escape route. She was dressed in a baggy pair of overalls, a bright green bathrobe, pink galoshes, and a black hat adorned by flamingos. To top it all off, she carried a tiger-striped umbrella.

“Come on, girl; it’s cold and wet. We don’t have all night!”

Adamantly, she shook her head no, stuffing herself farther back against the wall. _Who was this mad woman and why was she invading her corner of the world?_

“Look, don’t you want to get out of this rain? Dry off? Have a proper supper?”

Now all the internal warning bells the girl had went off. People who offered to take you in and feed, help you out, always wanted something in return and it was never something good. She’d never knocked an old woman down before, but she needed to escape and that was the only way out…

Shifting slightly, she got into position. The moment the woman was even slightly distracted she would go, bursting out and running off before the old lady could gather her wits. But before she could set her plan in motion, the crazy lady shook her head in frustration.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin,” she muttered, reaching into the pocket of her bathrobe. She pulled out a long, thin stick and suddenly, the girl’s heart froze.

 _A wand! The woman had a wand!_ The shock made her hesitate and that was all it took. Suddenly, the wand was pointed at her, a few words uttered, and then she was changing, shrinking as the world grew huge around her and the sound of the rain faded away.

The last thing the girl noticed before it all went dark was that the old woman’s hair was strangely the exact same color as the cat’s fur had been.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Minerva was completely lost in the gripping pages of her novel. 

It was a perfect day for reading. Not too hot, not too cold. She was curled up in her favorite, most comfortable chair, tea and biscuits within easy reach on the side table. Outside the August heat stifled the air, but the stone walls of Hogwarts kept it at bay and made the fire that burned cheerfully in her grate not unwelcome. 

Many of the other professors chose to leave the school and travel to other homes during the summer holidays, but Minerva had decided long ago that Hogwarts _was_ her home; it was where she felt most welcome and at ease. She and the castle had an odd sort of understanding, as if they both needed each other. It was nice.

Absorbed in the story, she turned another page. It was only during the holiday months that she let herself indulge in fiction, and she relished every minute of it.

She was just reaching the climax of the plot when her fire suddenly sputtered and spat, ruining her concentration. She snapped the book shut and glared at the offending flames.

A woman’s head wearing the official emerald green hat of the Floo Office popped into her hearth. 

“Will you accept the charges for an International Fireplace Connection?” she asked without preamble.

Minerva’s glare changed to a look of mild puzzlement. _International Floo_? Who on earth would be Flooing her from out of the country?

“Of course,” she answered politely, setting her book aside and rising from her chair to approach the fire. Her curiosity was piqued.

“Then please apply an extra handful of Floo powder to boost your fire’s strength in exactly two and five-eighths minutes.”

The woman’s head disappeared without a goodbye and Minerva scrambled for her Floo powder; she didn’t communicate this way very often. She preferred the elegance and dignity of the written word over conversations spent crouching in the soot and ashes. Still, it wasn’t every day that someone contacted her long-distance! As she waited the requested time she couldn’t help wondering what this was about.

Exactly two and five-eighths minutes after the Floo Official’s head had disappeared, Minerva threw in the handful of powder. Five foot green flames leapt out of her fireplace, forcing her to step backwards slightly and shield her face from the glow.

“Minerva! It’s the height of summer! Will you never learn to leave the stodgy, heavy robes behind during the holidays and loosen up? Let your knees breathe once in a while?”

Minerva pulled her arm away from her eyes and back to the fireplace. A woman’s head sat in the middle of the flames, her smoky gray hair covered in a shockingly blue turban.

“Ophelia,” she said, shaking her head with a smile. “Never once in my life have my knees needed to breathe.”

“And that is entirely your problem, my old friend. You need to live a little! You should see the summer robes they’re putting out over here! They’re marvelous! I’m sure we could find you one in a nice tartan. Of course, with the insane weather we’ve been having lately, it has been a bit chilly but –”

“Ophelia,” Minerva broke in with a laugh before her friend could really get going. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Oh, yes, right,” Ophelia said, and suddenly her teasing expression of before had become serious. “I wasn’t sure at first. Had to investigate for a few days, double check.”

“Check what?” Minerva prodded a little impatiently, settling onto a footstool where she had a better view of her friend’s head. Even when they were in school, Ophelia had always had a bad habit of talking around and around a subject but forgetting to get to the actual point of it.

“Well, the girl of course. But after four days I was positive, so I went to fetch her. Stubborn little thing didn’t want to come with me, though. Had to use my rubber chicken spell but it worked a treat.”

“Wait, wait,” Minerva said, frowning. “Are you telling me you found a girl, and turned her into a rubber chicken?” she asked aghast.

“Minerva, don’t look at me like that. I couldn’t very well carry a teenage girl home, could I?”

“So, you found a girl, turned her into a rubber chicken, and then carted her off to your home? Ophelia, what were you thinking! We don’t turn people into objects against their will and you know it!” Minerva was shocked and horrified by what her friend was telling her.

“I had no choice!” Ophelia snapped back, giving her a nasty glare. “I needed to get her home!”

“Why?” she asked with a heavy sigh. “Why on earth would you need to take a girl home with you in the first place, especially one who didn’t want to go with you?” Her thoughts were muddled, confused, and worried. Ophelia had always been a bit of an odd duck, but she was starting to think her friend had finally gone completely round the twist! Living among the Yanks for all those years must have done something to her!

“Because I found her, Minerva!” the head in the fireplace said with a big grin, argument forgotten. “I didn’t mean to, just ran into her on accident, but I’m sure it’s her.”

“Found who? Ophelia Oddsocks, please stop flying around the houses and tell me what you’re talking about!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last five minutes but you keep interrupting.”

Minerva fought the urge to roll her eyes; something which she felt was very noble of her. 

“Charlie and Jenny’s daughter,” her friend continued softly. “The McLauchlin girl.”

Minerva’s head snapped up at those unexpected words and she clutched at her heart, suddenly shaking. For several moments she couldn’t speak. “You found Sadie McLauchlin?” she finally whispered, overwhelming emotions coursing through her. “She really is still alive?”

“She’s alive.”

“Are you _sure_ it’s her?” After all these years and completely out of the blue… Minerva was finding it hard to think straight.

“As sure as I can be. After all, I’ve never met or seen the girl before, but she bears a striking resemblance to Charlie in the photo you left me.”

Minerva sat silent and frozen on her footstool. 

Seven years. It had been _seven years_ since the events of that horrific day, the loss of so many innocent lives. Seven years since one little girl had vanished like smoke, never to be seen again. At first she’d held out hope, but as time passed it was dimmed by the harsh voices of reason and reality. It had been many years since she thought of little Sadie with anything other than sorrow for her probable death.

“Well,” Ophelia interrupted her wandering thoughts. “Are you coming or not? I can’t wait all day – this long-distance Floo is putting a terrible strain on my little fireplace!”

Minerva straightened. What was she doing just sitting there, letting her emotions run rampant? This was not a time for sentimentality!

“Of course I’m coming. I’ll go to London and arrange an International Portkey immediately,” she said, standing quickly. 

“Wonderful!” Ophelia beamed. “We can owl out for Chinese when you get here. Oh, and I’ll need to wash the spare sheets…and restock the ice chest…” 

Her friend’s head suddenly disappeared without even a goodbye, Ophelia already lost in the list of tasks she was giving herself.

Quickly, Minerva pulled an ancient carpetbag from beneath her bed and set it to packing itself. Then she left her chambers heading for the Headmaster’s office, heart full with the news she had to share.

*****

“Minerva!”

Minerva tried not to cringe at the enthusiastic greeting as the door she’d just knocked smartly on swung open.

“Come in, come in!”

She stepped into the small flat and set her bag down, looking around.

“This isn’t the same place you had before,” she said with interest.

“Oh, no. That place was much too big for me alone, and filled with too many memories of Ralph. I’m much happier here. Now, let me get your cloak; you’re soaked. How do you like all this rain?”

Minerva handed off the garment while Ophelia continued to talk on as she blasted the sodden wool with a drying spell.

“Usually, New York is hot and beautifully sunny this time of year. Shame you can’t see it!”

“I’m certain I can picture it just fine,” said Minerva, giving her friend a warm smile. Ophelia had her faults, but there was nothing false or pretentious about her, which was one of the reasons they had remained good friends despite time and distance. “Ophelia, where’s the girl?” The tiny living area of the flat was empty of anyone other than the two witches.

Her friend sobered slightly and gestured with her head to one of the few doors placed at intervals around the room. This one was shut tight.

“Poor thing just doesn’t trust me. She tried to go out the window when I was making tea.”

Sorrow filled Minerva and she stepped up to the door. “May I?” she asked.

“Of course. Hopefully, you’ll have better luck than me. I’ll owl out for food while you two talk.”

Full of a mix of emotions, Minerva turned the knob on the door and pushed it open.

The room was dim, but a lamp burned in one corner, throwing off a warm glow. A cozy bed commanded the center of the space, a tray of tea and toast sitting at the foot of it, but both bed and food were untouched. A strange rope of what looked like knitted yarn stretched from one of the bedposts to where it disappeared in the space between the bureau and the wall. At the window, a pair of rather determined looking knitting needles stood guard.

She entered the room completely and closed the door behind her. Then she stepped around the end of the bed so she had a clear view of where the yarn rope led. A teenage girl sat on the floor, wedged into the small space with her knees drawn up and her head on her arms, sleeping lightly. Around one small wrist the yarn rope attached to a knitted cuff, enchanted to keep her from escaping the room.

Minerva shook her head. Leave it to Ophelia to set her knitting on the girl so she wouldn’t run off. She pulled her wand from her robes and flicked it, breaking the strengthening spell and letting the cuff and rope unravel. The yarn retreated obediently, rolling up into a ball.

Feeling the motion at her wrist, the girl woke with a start, her head jerking up, and suddenly the two of them were staring at each other.

Minerva’s voice caught on a lump in her throat. The child was older – sixteen now, although she didn’t look it with her small stature – and the pair of glasses clinging to her face were new, but she still had no doubt that she was gazing at a young girl she hadn’t seen for seven years but used to know quite well. The bright red hair and expressive brown eyes were unmistakable even when filthy, and in her features she was an equal and undeniable mix of Jenny and Charlie.

“Sadie McLauchlin,” she finally breathed in joyous awe. The girl blinked at her name but didn’t speak. “She really found you.”

The child looked at her fearfully, her brown eyes dark and weary, but she didn’t say a word. Gazing into those eyes, Minerva knew this was a girl with horrors that haunted her past. It broke her heart because the last time she’d stared into those eyes they’d been full of happiness and life.

With a sigh, she drew up a chair and sat beside the bed in front of Sadie, who other than raising her head hadn’t moved.

“I’m sorry if Mrs. Oddsocks frightened you. I know she can be a little…I believe intense would be a good word, but she means well.”

Sadie still said nothing. 

Minerva frowned.

“Sadie,” she said gently. “Do you remember me?”

Silence stretched after her question, long and heavy, but she let it, simply watching the girl as she was in turn studied with the most intense of gazes. Finally, barely noticeable, Sadie nodded.

“Then you should know I’m not here to harm you. I don’t know where you’ve been or what has happened to you over the years, and I know your strong wariness of strangers has probably kept you safe during that time, but you must decide if you want to continue to live that way, or if you can try trusting again. I’m here to take you to England with me. There’s a place for you at Hogwarts, always has been, if you’d like it, and people who care deeply for you.”

For the first time some of the fear and distrust slipped off Sadie’s face, replaced by a flicker of curiosity, but before Minerva could tell her more, a loud rumbling sound split the silence.

“Are you hungry?” she asked at once. The child was scared and traumatized, but there would be time to address that later. Now she would get farther by providing for her practical needs first.

Sadie nodded slowly.

“Then come. Mrs. Oddsocks promised a fine spread of New York City cuisine. I’m sure we don’t want to miss it.”

She stood up, returning the chair to its original place, and then turned to Sadie and waited. After a long moment, the girl haltingly moved out of her hiding spot. Minerva took in the bare feet and ragged, dirty, ill-fitting clothing with a great sadness, but forced herself not to react openly. 

“Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the doorway, but the girl paused, drawing back nervously from the window with its knitting needle sentries they would have to pass.

“Oh, Merlin’s fallen arches,” Minerva muttered whisking out her wand again. “I’ve told Ophelia time and time again to just get a nice pet cat! Those blasted needles are entirely too full of themselves anyway,” she said as she fired off a tiny stunning spell and the silver needles fell to the floor. For the first time, the faint glimmer of a smile pulled at the corners of Sadie’s eyes and mouth.

“Come, child. Let’s get some food in you before you faint. Just make sure to ask the cutlery politely before you use it; Mrs. Oddsocks possessions can be so persnickety.”

Together – Minerva pretending not to notice the girl’s trembling, hesitant steps – they left the spare bedroom.

*****

She stood on the roof and watched as the rising sun inched above the horizon, waking the city with rays of amber and gold that bounced off the millions of windows and shimmering puddles still left in the streets. 

The rain had finally stopped and the sun emerged, the world washed clean and born again to a new day.

The symbolism of it all wasn’t lost on her.

Silently, Sadie scanned the metropolis, pausing now and then to commit a roof to memory, dwell on the deep green of a park, remember the maddening smell of roasting peanuts…

This city held dark and dangerous corners, where nightmares stalked and hunger and cold tormented. Hidden, evil secrets and terrors. For those reasons, she hated it.

But it also held great beauty. A memory of a friendly smile, a kind word… Cool wood and the smell of old books… A mind finally unlocked… And for those reasons she loved it as well.

The city was an enigma – the canyons of steel and stone could swallow you whole and steal your soul, and yet it had been her home, kept her safe, sheltered her. It called to her, in a way she would never understand, but knew she couldn’t ignore.

“Sadie?”

She turned at the voice and stepped guiltily away from the ledge. She hadn’t been given permission to come up here and she was still unsure of these people.

“There you are, child,” the older woman – Professor McGonagall, Sadie corrected herself – said. “It’s almost time for us to go. Our Portkey departs in an hour…” The professor’s voice trailed off as she came to a stop beside her and gazed out at the sparkling city. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “I must admit that is quite the sight. Beautiful, in its own way.” She looked at Sadie. “You will miss it, won’t you?”

Sadie considered the words carefully, weighing the secrets that she kept, before she nodded.

They stood in silence for a few more moments, soaking it in. Then Professor McGonagall turned smartly toward the stairs that would take them back down into the building. “Come, Sadie. It’s time to go.”

Fear and trepidation welled up inside Sadie and she fought the urge to back away, flee. Here, in her city, life at least was familiar, but to follow the older woman was to take a terrifying leap into the unknown. And yet, for reasons she couldn’t explain, her heart told her to go.

With one last look, she bade the concrete jungle farewell…at least until they met again, and then followed the professor to the stairs.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry was feeling peacefully full and content. That was hands down the best meal he’d eaten since he left Hogwarts at the end of term and now thoughts of bed and dreams were starting to creep into his mind. It was a wonderfully relaxed feeling and, despite the excitement of the World Cup in two days, he wished this evening could never end.

“While everyone is here, there’s something I need to tell you all,” Mr. Weasley suddenly announced, his voice quiet and serious, cutting through the easy after-dinner chatter. He caught Mrs. Weasley’s eye and she nodded, setting her napkin down on the table and folding her hands.

Harry’s blissful mood popped like a balloon and his stomach dropped, instantly sure that this would somehow be about him. It usually was when Mr. Weasley made a statement like that with him present. Ron and Hermione apparently had the same thought because they both turned to look at him, but he just shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

“We have someone else joining us tomorrow, staying until the new Hogwarts term starts,” Mr. Weasley continued carefully. 

“Going to the World Cup?” Fred blurted out and Mr. Weasley nodded.

“What?”

“Who?”

“With us?”

Harry listened to the noisy outbursts from the Weasley clan thinking maybe this just might not be about him for once.

“Quiet!” Mrs. Weasley suddenly said loudly, stopping everyone mid-breath. “I think if you lot would be quiet and listen,” she continued in a calmer voice, “then your father was about to answer all of your questions.”

Rather sheepishly, the Weasleys looked back at their father.

“As I was saying, tomorrow we have someone coming to the Burrow to stay with us for the rest of the summer. Dumbledore asked us if we’d be willing and we readily agreed. I expect each and every one of you to treat her kindly,” he eyed the twins pointedly.

“Her?” Fred and George said in shocked unison.

“Why here, Dad?” Charlie asked calmly.

Mr. Weasley sighed, his eyes sad again. Now that Harry thought about it, Mr. Weasley had seemed a bit melancholy all evening, which was so uncharacteristic for him. 

“Her father was my best mate, many years ago before he died. We would’ve volunteered even if Dumbledore hadn’t asked. Her name is Sadie McLauchlin.”

For a moment there was complete, stunned silence and then everyone started to speak at once.

“Do we know her?”

“I don’t remember any Sadie at school…”

“Is she a first year?”

“She’s coming to the Cup with us?”

Mr. Weasley held up his hand to stop the barrage of comments from his loud brood.

“Sadie’s situation is rather…unique,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean, Dad,” Bill asked, voicing the question Harry and everyone else wanted to know.

Mr. Weasley sighed. “Sadie’s life…hasn’t been easy.”

Harry heard a disgusted snort from the other end of the table and looked down to find Mrs. Weasley frowning. It seemed as though she very much wanted to add to that statement but Mr. Weasley gave her a meaningful glance and she kept silent.

“As I said, her life hasn’t been easy. She’s a very powerful young witch but she’s never had the opportunity to attend school. She should have started Hogwarts five years ago but no one could find her.”

Around the table, people were doing rapid calculations to figure out the age of their impending guest, all except Ron who blurted out with a confused expression, “No one could _find_ her?” He shook his head as if disgusted at the thought that adults could actually _lose_ a person!

“So, she’s sixteen?” said Fred before anyone could respond to Ron.

“And just starting Hogwarts?” added George.

“As a first year?” they finished in unison, voices full of horror.

“No, of course not. Dumbledore has a plan to help her catch up. She’s never formally been to school, but she’s not completely without magical ability or training. She’ll be starting as a fourth year – a few years behind but not as bad as it could be.”

Harry glanced around the table as discussion continued about this mysterious girl who would be coming to stay with the Weasleys. It was interesting but other than the fact the girl would be joining his year he honestly couldn’t see how it mattered to him. After all, it’s not as though he made a huge habit of becoming chummy with girls several years older than him.

“Why did Dumbledore send her here, Dad?” asked Percy, his voice thick with disapproval. “I’m sure there are others with more erm…room than you and Mum.”

“She can have your room, Perce,” called Fred gaily.

“Yeah, you’re hardly ever in it,” added George.

Percy started to sputter about the important work he did for the Ministry in his room but Mrs. Weasley interrupted.

“Boys,” she scolded sternly, glaring at them all. “Of course Dumbledore could have found somewhere else to send her, but we wouldn’t hear of it. We insisted she come here. It’s the least we could do.”

“I owed Charlie that much,” continued Mr. Weasley softly, a mournful, faraway sort of look in his eyes and his voice grave. Harry stared. He’d never seen the Weasley patriarch emotional like this. “For years I’ve questioned what happened, wondered if there was something more I could have done…”

“Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley cut in quietly, her tone pulling him back on topic but her eyes soft and loving. For just a moment, Harry was captivated. Aunt Petunia never looked at Uncle Vernon like that…

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Weasley said, clearing his throat and steadying his voice. “I suppose I could do a better job at explaining, couldn’t I? Sadie’s mother Jenny was in our same year in Gryffindor, and as I said, her father was my best mate at school, even though he was several years older than me. There weren’t that many redheads around Hogwarts back then and we bonded over bad ginger jokes before finding out we shared a…er…rather fondness for Muggles. Over the years, that grew into a friendship not unlike Ron and Harry here. By the time Charlie left Hogwarts, we were inseparable.”

“Wait,” broke in Charlie with a sudden spark of understanding in his eyes. “Your friend’s name was Charlie? Does that mean...”

“Yes, Charlie, you were named for him. And I believe he named his second eldest son Arthur,” Mr. Weasley answered, a smile finally forming. 

Charlie grinned, a pleased look on his face. “Finally, proof that my name wasn’t just random, unlike the rest of you lot! I always knew I was the favorite son…”

“Hey!”

“Watch it!” the twins growled, glaring.

Harry shook his head, cutting in before all the Weasley boys could really get going on each other. “Mr. Weasley, you keep saying _was_ and _were_ when you talk about them? So both her parents are dead?”

“Yes, Harry,” responded Mr. Weasley. “Her parents are dead. Her whole family was killed.”

“Voldemort?” he pressed, ignoring the flinches from around the table.

“I don’t really know,” Mr. Weasley answered him after a moment. “That’s part of why everything about this is so shrouded in mystery. Molly and I, along with others like Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, firmly believe that followers of You-Know-Who were behind the murders, but there’s no proof. The crimes were committed in such a way that it’s possible they were simply atrocious acts of random Muggle violence.”

Harry frowned, recalling some of the more awful stories he’d overheard from the Dursleys’ telly on the evening news. He was well aware that Muggles could be every bit as cruel and evil as wizards.

Next to him, Hermione was shaking her head in sorrow and disgust. “What can we do to help her, Mr. Weasley?” she asked sincerely.

“Just be her friend.” He smiled slightly at the young witch who had become almost a part of his own family. “I imagine, despite everything Albus and Minerva can do, things will be difficult and frightening for her. We just want her to have some friends and people she knows before the school year starts.”

Mrs. Weasley picked up the conversation. “Take her under your wing and show her around. Look out for her at first. You all remember that exciting and yet terrifying feeling of your first week at Hogwarts, trying to find your way around and figure everything out.”

They all nodded firmly, Harry more fervently than the rest. He vividly remembered that first week when the eyes of the entire school seemed to be glued to the scar on his forehead. He felt a bit of kinship with this unknown girl take hold inside him, understanding now what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were getting at.

“Well,” continued Mrs. Weasley, her next words echoing exactly what Harry had just been thinking. “Imagine all that with the added burden of everyone knowing you are new and behind in school.”

“Hermione and Ginny, show her around the dorm and introduce her to the other girls. Professor McGonagall gave her a private sorting to lessen her embarrassment and she’s in Gryffindor,” Mr. Weasley picked up the conversation again. “Ron, Harry – help her out with school and be her friend. Fred and George,” he added, looking at the twins. “She’s sixteen, like you two. She’ll need some friends her own age who don’t care she’s a few years behind.”

“As if success in school was our number one criteria,” Fred scoffed. Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley’s face darken with a frown.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” George added before his mother could respond to that. “You can count on us.”

“The rest of you,” finished Mr. Weasley looking at his older children, “just make her feel welcome and answer any questions she might have. This is all going to be so new and very unnerving for her.”

“Don’t worry, Dad,” repeated Charlie. “We’ll make her feel like part of the family. But why are you so sure she’ll have a hard time making friends? She might be behind, but she’ll still be surrounded by kids her own age.”

Mr. Weasley paused and Harry got the impression he was trying to figure out how to say what he needed to tell them next.

“I mentioned Sadie hasn’t had the best of circumstances in life. I’m not going to tell you much more than that; she can tell you more if she ever wants to and we – your mother and I – don’t know all that much anyway. But there’s one thing we do know and you should be prepared for as well.”

Harry felt an ominous tickle of worry settle in his stomach. What was wrong with this girl? What horrible thing was Mr. Weasley so reluctant to tell them? Was she from a bad family? Voldemort’s long lost niece or something that would make people shun her? Some horrible inherited power? He knew first hand that you couldn’t pick your relatives, or your abilities, so whatever it was he figured he wouldn’t hold it against her.

“Well, what?” demanded Ron impatiently.

“Sadie can’t talk, dear,” replied Mrs. Weasley gently. There was shocked silence all around as she continued with a sad voice. “A powerful spell took her voice away sometime during the years she was missing. Professor McGonagall gave her a notebook for writing and she says when encouraged Sadie uses some form of sign language, but it’s still going to be difficult for her, getting people to understand what she wants to say. We’re hoping an extra week or so here before school starts will help her feel more comfortable communicating, and give us all a leg up on learning how to recognize a few of her signs as well.”

For several minutes no one said anything. Finally, Ron ventured a quiet question. “She can’t talk?” he asked as if not sure he’d heard correctly. 

His mother nodded.

“Because of a spell?”

She nodded again.

“But…that’s awful!” Hermione finally burst out. “Can’t anything be done? Reverse the spell or something? Surely Dumbledore must know how! Or St. Mungo’s! Or there has to be information in the library no one’s thought of –”

“Hermione,” interrupted Mr. Weasley, “Dumbledore’s investigated every option, and while I’m sure he won’t mind if you look again, right now there really is nothing that can be done but help her have confidence communicating and learn to understand her. It was old, dark magic that took her voice. Those types of spells don’t always have reversals.”

Hermione didn’t argue but by the look in her eyes Harry knew she wasn’t dissuaded. She’d probably hit the library running their first day back, dragging Ron and him along in her wake.

“Well, it’s getting late, dears,” spoke Mrs. Weasley, standing and starting to gather scattered dishes. “We really should all be getting to bed. Big day tomorrow. Ginny, Hermione, if you could help me with these platters and Fred and George, the chairs…”

“Molly, wait,” interrupted Mr. Weasley again. “I need to finish telling them everything, especially Harry.”

“Arthur, I don’t think now’s the time. They’ve had all the news they can handle tonight.”

“And when will be the right time? She’s arriving in the morning?”

“It’s the kind of news you don’t just dump on a person! Especially with everyone else here. Give them time to get to know each other.”

Harry, Hermione, and all the Weasley children’s heads were swiveling back and forth between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who almost seemed to have forgotten they were there.

“Molly, it’s not bad news. Why are you worried about telling him?” Mr. Weasley asked his wife.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to deflate, sinking back into her chair. “Because I know how I’d feel, finding out something like that after fourteen years with everyone watching.”

“Finding out what?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself. “What does this girl have to do with me?”

“Quite a lot, actually,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling at him, some of the sadness of before dissipating. “Sadie’s your cousin, Harry.”

For the third time that evening a completely shocked silence settled around the table.

“My _cousin_?” Harry choked out. 

“Yes, Harry.”

“But…what? How?” he stuttered, his brain whirling in confusion. “But the Dursleys never –” Harry stopped that thought. The Dursleys hadn’t told him a lot of things, like, oh, the fact that he was a wizard and his parents had been murdered by the worst Dark Wizard to walk the land in a century or so.

“Your aunt and uncle didn’t know anything about her, Harry,” added Mrs. Weasley gently, apparently resigned to telling the story now. “She’s not related to them.”

Harry’s brain struggled to process that. “But that means she’s…my dad…” He trailed off, noticing that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were all staring at him with expressions ranging from concern to bafflement.

“Sadie’s parents were Charles Stuart McLauchlin and Jenny Potter McLauchlin – your father’s older sister,” said Mr. Weasley quietly.

A million thoughts and emotions raced through Harry’s brain at lightning speed. He had a cousin! A cousin he didn’t know about. A cousin who wasn’t Dudley the Human Whale. A relative who wasn’t remotely related to the Dursleys and might not hate the very sight of him. It was not unlike the whirl of feelings he’d had when he found out he had a godfather who actually cared for him.

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?” he finally blurted, rather louder than he meant to in his excitement.

“Well, remember, until a few days ago we didn’t know if she was even alive,” answered Mr. Weasley wearily. “She vanished the day her family was killed and most everyone assumed she’d died, also. After years of searching, even those of us who held out hope had to admit it was probably true.”

“You’d already lost so many people, dear, we didn’t want to burden you with even more relatives who’d been killed,” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice quavering. “Why raise your hopes about a cousin who was most certainly dead?”

Her words brought home a fact Harry hadn’t really articulated in his brain yet – her parents had been murdered; his own aunt and uncle. The fact that he hadn’t even known about them until five minutes earlier didn’t stop the familiar rush of grief and anger that filled him just as it always did when he thought of his own parents dying. They were two more people Voldemort had somehow taken away from him and two more reasons to make sure he never got the chance to rise to power again.

“Now, it really is time for bed,” Mrs. Weasley finished firmly, swiping suspiciously at her cheek with the back of her hand. “Everyone off to sleep. Your father and I will clean up here. Off you go, off you go!” She made shooing motions with her arms, sending all of them, even her grown children, off into the warm light of the Burrow. “And go right to sleep!” she called after their retreating backs. “No talking!”

“Are you okay?” Hermione whispered anxiously to Harry as they climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. She and Ron hadn’t stopped throwing him worried glances since Mr. Weasley had dropped his bombshell news.

“Yeah,” answered Harry, meaning it. “I mean I just got a relative who doesn’t hate me or think I should be committed. That’s good, right?”

“That’s the spirit, Harry,” said Fred, clapping him on his shoulder.

“Can never have too many relatives, I say,” said George. “I mean look at us. Have to rent a small village every time they all come round.”

Harry laughed at the twins but the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s footsteps approaching sent them all – Bill and Charlie included – scattering before he could say anything in reply.

Harry followed Ron into his flaming, orange room, Fred and George trailing behind. For a while no one said anything, finding pajamas and climbing into the four beds that were crammed into the small attic space.

“Where d’you reckon she’s been?” whispered Ron eventually, picking up the conversation from earlier. “If they thought she was dead?”

Harry had been wondering the same thing but he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to know. Parents killed mysteriously, voice taken by some evil spell, missing for who knew how many years…? Wherever she’d been it couldn’t have been good.

“I dunno,” he replied. “But your dad told us she’s had it rough.”

“Think she’s been stuck with Muggles like you?” asked George.

“An orphanage maybe?” suggest Fred.

“I hope not,” muttered Harry, thinking how well that had worked out for one Tom Riddle.

A soft knock at the door interrupted them.

“Ron, it’s us,” Ginny’s voice hissed through the keyhole. “Let us in.”

Ron got up and opened the door for Ginny and Hermione to slip inside. Ginny settled on the end of George’s bed; Hermione on Harry’s.

“Bill and Charlie coming?” asked Fred. Harry noticed he didn’t bother asking about Percy.

“No,” Ginny answered. “Said they were tired.”

“Mum better not hear us,” muttered Ron.

“She won’t,” said Ginny confidently. Everyone looked at her curiously. “I woke the ghoul up before we came in,” she explained. “Mum won’t be able to hear anything but him for at least an hour.”

Fred and George gave their little sister an appraising, almost parental look.

“Gin,” Fred said, hand over his heart in exaggerated emotion, “you make us so proud.”

“Growing up so devious and all,” George added, wiping at his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Ron groaned, chucking his pillow at the twins.

“So, what did we miss,” Hermione asked.

“Not much. We were just trying to figure out how Dumbledore and everyone else could have lost her.” Ron replied. “I mean, how do you just lose someone?”

“It’s not as hard as you think,” Hermione answered knowledgeably. “Look at Peter Pettigrew.”

Ron grimaced and stuttered while Harry frowned. “You think my cousin’s been living as a rat?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’m just pointing out how easy it is to lose track of someone, especially if everyone thinks they’re dead.”

There was silence for a moment as they all considered that. Harry couldn’t help but feel grateful that even though he’d spent the first twelve years of his life in ignorance of the magical world at least that world had kept track of him. What if Dumbledore had given up after that first letter went unanswered? That was a truly horrifying thought. Harry suppressed a shudder.

“Wonder what she’s been through?” George mumbled

“And not one of you is going to ask her,” Hermione said sternly, giving each boy a glare.

“Aw, Hermione!” several voices whined. “Why not?”

“I mean it,” she cut them off. “Your parents hinted that she’s been through some pretty horrible things. She doesn’t need us prying into them. Harry, do you like it when people ask you about what happened to your parents?”

Harry shook his head.

“Then I’m betting she’s not going to want to talk about it either.”

Reluctantly, five heads nodded.

“I wonder what she’s like?”

“Maybe she’s –”

“Sh!” Ginny suddenly hissed, holding a finger to her lips. Dead silence filled the room allowing all of them to hear distant footsteps on the stairs.

“Mum’s coming!” Fred whispered. “Quick, get out!”

Hermione and Ginny leapt to their feet and dashed out of the room while George flicked the light out. All four boys threw themselves into bed and pulled the covers over their heads, pretending to be asleep. A few moments later the door opened a crack. Harry held his breath but after several seconds, it closed again. He let out a sigh of relief, but no one dared talk after that. One by one, they drifted off to sleep. Harry, however lay awake long into the night, mulling over everything he’d learned and wondering what this new cousin would be like as he listened to Ron’s snores.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

“You’re very quiet tonight, Minerva,” Albus said suddenly, returning his cup of tea to the saucer with a tiny click and setting them both on the table next to his armchair. “You haven’t even complained about Argus rearranging the suits of armor again.”

“The suits of armor will simply migrate back to their preferred corridors in the night,” she answered, setting aside her own cup with a shake of her head. After a friendship that spanned more than half a century, the two had learned to often enjoy a companionable silence during their habit of taking a late-night cup of tea together once a week. But it also meant that Albus knew the difference between when she was thinking contentedly and when she was stewing.

“You’re worried about Sadie,” he said quietly, leaning back into the chair.

“Aren’t you?” she snapped then dropped her head slightly in contrition. Albus didn’t deserve her frustration, but her friend showed no reaction to her moment of weakness.

“Yes, but I also believe the girl has more in her than meets the eye. She will surprise us.”

Minerva looked up, pondering his response and the deep feelings it stirred in her, but somehow she managed to hold them at bay behind a wall of practicality. “Her academics are all over the place, though,” she went on, aware Albus had broached the subject because he knew she needed to talk about it but purposefully retreating to the safety of unemotional curriculum. She settled back in her own chair and reached for the small pile of parchment on the table, drawing it to her and putting on her glasses. “The exams show a study of contradictions. Potions – surprisingly excellent, and her understanding of Herbology and magical creatures approximates that of others her age, but her wand work, however, is completely subpar. In fact, she almost seems to have a fear of wands or at the very least a deep distrust…” Minerva shook her head, aware of the implications of her words as she again forced her rising sentimentality into submission. 

Best to stick to the dry facts. 

“I seriously considered putting her with the first years for History of Magic, but Binns is so indomitably boring most of her classmates wouldn’t do any better if I administered the same test,” she finished with a small scoff, unable to hide her distaste.

Albus gave a chuckle. “His teaching has always lacked a certain…life to it, hasn’t it.” His eyes twinkled with repressed mirth.

Minerva fought the urge to groan at yet another of his bad jokes and continued with her notes. “Beyond her magical training, however, I’m also concerned about her basic education. Her reading skills are exemplary and her writing fine, if you can discount the handwriting, but her grasp of advanced mathematics beyond the concepts of fractions and measurements is pitiful. She will need remedial aid in that area as well as her magical studies.” Minerva sighed, her worry building despite her efforts to contain it. 

“Given a willing pupil and an excellent teacher, educational shortcomings can easily be remedied, and I’m certain in this situation we have both,” her friend said with a gentle smile. “Minerva, this list of academic concerns isn’t what’s really bothering you. You’re using it to avoid your feelings again.”

Minerva sighed and lowered the parchment to her lap as she pulled off her glasses, looking across the small sitting room to her friend. Sometimes she almost hated that he knew her so well. And what was worse, this time he was right. She was such a mess of tangled emotions at the moment that she simply had to maintain her detached air as a survival tactic. 

“It’s Poppy’s examination,” she said quietly, conceding the battle and finally allowing an angry frown to tug at the corners of her mouth. “The malnutrition, the marks, the way they crippled her and put that…that _thing_ on her!” Her voice grew louder as she spoke until she caught and reined herself back in. “So much damage done, and we don’t even know how or why… You didn’t see her in New York, Albus, huddled in that corner, full of fear and distrust. How can we in good conscience set her adrift in this madhouse in less than two weeks when she still has so much healing to work her way through?”

“Have you considered that perhaps this _madhouse_ as you called our fine school is exactly what she needs to _start_ that healing? And who better to help her begin that recovery than Arthur, Molly, and the children? You know she’ll never want for love again – or food for that matter – once Molly gets her hands on her. And I predict that the Weasley children and Harry will have her sneaking around, breaking rules and getting detentions in no time.”

In spite of the seriousness of their topic, Minerva raised an eyebrow. “You are aware that as headmaster of this school you really shouldn’t take such a gleeful approach to rule breaking.”

“Certain rules are meant to be broken, my dear Minerva, at least once in a young person’s life. I seem to recall quite a few you used to disregard yourself.”

Minerva shook her head, giving him an annoyed glare which he just waved off with a laugh. 

She rewarmed her tea with subtle twist of her wand and brought the cup back to her lips, letting the silence descend as they each got lost in thought. The weight of the previous conversation dragged her thoughts back down alleys of painful memories, however, and finally she had no choice but to speak once more. “I keep seeing Jenny,” she admitted, her voice unusually thick with emotion. “That day I had to tell her about James and Lily. She was so devastated and heartbroken. She begged and begged me to be able to care for Harry, and I had to tell her no.”

Something very much like pain and regret filled her old friend’s face suddenly and she realized how her words had sounded. She knew his reasons and could even grudgingly agree with them, but Harry’s summer living arrangements were a topic Albus and she did not see eye to eye on and therefore one not often discussed. Still, she hadn’t meant to hurt him. She hurried on.

“Only now in my mind, the scene is turned on its head, and she keeps asking me why we didn’t care for Sadie, why we lost her little girl. I don’t know how to answer.” She stopped abruptly, clamping her jaw down before any more foolish nightmares could slip out into reality. 

Albus steepled his fingers, his expression grave. Before them, the fire crackled and popped in the hearth, stirring Minerva’s dark thoughts off on a small tangent as the headmaster sat silently, weighing his words. In the leaping flames she saw the image of a teenaged girl – small and ragged – unable to express her gratitude for the warmth of the fire she’d finally worked up the courage to approach… 

Minerva shook her head, forcefully burying the mental picture again just as Albus finally spoke.

“Evil doesn’t make answers convenient. You know that. Sometimes, it even leaves us without them, just awful, open questions that we can never close. Despite everything we try to do, evil wins the battle, and beautiful, innocent people like Sadie pay the price. But, I also know that while evil might claim victory in some battles, as long as we keep fighting it will never win the war.”

He paused, his eyes full of sorrow. “We don’t know what happened that day, or where Sadie has been these last seven years…what she’s been through. We can make guesses, but honestly, we may never know. Evil won that battle and she slipped through a crack; something that’s hard for us to accept. But really, the very fact that Sadie’s here with us, starting her new life is testament not to that evil, but to her goodness. She fought it and survived – not unscathed, but alive. All we can do now is adjust the ultimate score and move forward.”

Minerva pondered his words. Albus Dumbledore had a bit of a reputation as a silly, carefree old man, but she knew that was only a part of his personality that he deliberately allowed to take the forefront in order to mask who he truly was – a deep and wise man with more power than most cared to admit.

“Something else is eating at you, isn’t it?” he said after drilling her with that intense gaze of his.

Minerva nodded. “Her knowledge of the Dark Arts is…” She trailed off, not quite sure what word to use. “Albus, she has an innate understanding of the topic, how to fight it, but also how to use it. Not wand work – just instinctual, natural magic. It worries me. There is just so much of this I can't figure out. I'm sure Jenny had started teaching her basic subjects, and she was a little bookworm, which could explain some of it. But even besides the Dark Arts, she has knowledge she shouldn't. And yet, she has absolutely no experience with a wand. Don't you think we need to press harder to find out what’s happened to her, where she’s been?”

“No,” he answered with conviction. “I think, for now, we should let her keep her secrets. She’s scared and protecting herself in the only way that she knows how. I truly believe that's how she survived. Yet here we are, thrusting her into a strange and difficult world – didn’t you just call it a madhouse? We both know children, much as we adore them, are not always kind or prudent. The best action, surely, is to trust her instincts. Let her keep her secrets until she finds out for herself who to trust.”

There was a simple truth in his words. Minerva felt her worries calming slightly and she sipped her tea. Still, two more thoughts remained on the front of her mind.

“Should we attempt to locate Annalise? Tell her that Sadie has been found and is alive? Surely someone must have an idea where she’s retreated to.”

Albus’s mouth dipped into a small frown, his face strange and unreadable. “No, don’t. Not yet, at any rate. Let Sadie have one adjustment at a time, shall we?” 

Minerva could see the wisdom in that. “And the glasses?” she asked lastly. “Are they as you suspected?”

“Yes,” Albus answered.

“Well, what should we do? Don’t we have an obligation to tell someone?” Her stomach clenched at the idea, knowing what it would mean for Sadie, but she just couldn’t ignore the moral compass that ran through her.

“Minerva,” the man said with a laugh, the odd expression of before vanishing, “I have never felt an obligation to tell anyone anything. There are far too many people in this world who think they know what’s best, for them and everyone else, when in reality, a little less knowing about everything and everyone would be extremely good for them.”

Minerva scrunched up her forehead, trying to make sense of what her friend had just said. He smiled at her expression.

“In other words,” he clarified, leaning back and crossing his hands contently in his lap. “To quote a brilliant Muggle saying: What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

She grinned and just this once, Minerva found herself having to agree.

*****

In stunned awe, Sadie McLauchlin stared at herself in the full length mirror she’d come across in the long hallway. Slowly, she turned around, spreading her arms out as she glanced up and down, still hardly able to believe her eyes.

She was wearing clean, new clothes that had actually been bought just for her. The fabric of the blouse was soft and delicate, and she couldn’t help reaching up every once in a while to touch it with her fingertips, still amazed that something so nice could belong to her now. The skirt was simple, but they’d let her choose it, and to her the dusty blue color was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. And to top it off, she had shoes on her feet! Real, new shoes! Over the years, shoes had become the greatest of luxuries, one she didn’t often get to indulge in. Her last pair, so graciously given to her by that kind librarian who saw her distress when informed of the library rules, had been stolen months ago. But now, she had shoes again – ones she’d picked out herself. It made her feel incredibly special. 

Sadie couldn’t help thinking she looked so strange, with her hair washed and combed and the dirt all gone. She almost didn’t recognize herself; only her glasses were familiar, the one part of her past appearance she could never replace. 

She stopped turning and faced the mirror, gazing intently, her thoughts racing. So much had happened so quickly. Just days ago she’d been begging on the streets of New York with no thoughts other than to stay alive and stay away from _her_. She’d never made any plans for the future because she wasn’t sure she’d even have one. Now she was in England – well Scotland to be exact as she remembered Professor McGonagall telling her that was where the castle she’d spent the last few nights at was located – preparing to go to school for the first time in her life like a normal human being! 

It overwhelmed her and at least a dozen times a day it took every bit of courage she had to stay, to fight the deeply ingrained need to run and hide, to not trust. Back in the shadows of her past, when she’d been a different person, she remembered trusting people openly and instinctively. And then _that day_ happened and that trust had been shattered forever. 

But somewhere, buried deep inside, a little girl’s belief in light and goodness had survived; the knowledge that love existed and there was more to life than pain and suffering. It’s what made her fight to stay alive, to claw her way back up each time she felt she couldn’t go on. 

When she’d looked up in that flat to see Professor McGonagall standing there and a million memories had crashed into her, that desperate part of her soul which had held out for something better cracked through the walls necessity had built around it and she found herself risking everything for one moment of trust. Her cynical mind had screamed at her not to, but her battered and lonely heart knew she must. 

And they’d been so kind to her, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore. So patient and understanding. The first few days she’d lived in terror that the other shoe was going to drop, that they’d turn on her and she’d find herself trapped, a prisoner again. But now, even though she couldn’t explain why, she knew that would never happen. These people did care for her; she really was finally safe. So, when her instinct to flee tried to overpower her because years of behavior couldn’t be undone in a few days, she latched on to the thought of the two teachers, the kindness they’d given, and forced herself to remain.

“You look very lovely, Miss Sadie.”

Sadie spun around in surprise at the voice and then blushed to find Professor Dumbledore standing there smiling at her.

She smiled back, ducking her head. 

“But I believe Professor McGonagall is searching for you. It’s time to go.”

A spark of panic shot through Sadie and her smile faltered. _Can’t I stay here with you?_ she longed to ask but the old professor wouldn’t understand her signs and she was too embarrassed to write the question on the wonderful, new notebook Professor McGonagall had bought for her in New York. But somehow he read her mind.

“I’m sorry but you can’t stay here. Not just yet,” he said kindly. “The school has preparations for start of term that need to be done, and you, my dear girl, have people you need to meet, friends to make.”

*I’m afraid,* her hands confessed suddenly, shaking as she formed the words. *I can’t do this.*

To her surprise, Professor Dumbledore seemed to know what she said. He stepped up and reached a hand out, running it gently down her hair in a grandfatherly gesture. “Sadie McLauchlin, you can do this. You’ll see. You will rise, like a phoenix from the ashes, and someday you will burn bright with life and hope again.” 

He dropped his hand and Sadie felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. It had been a long time since someone had found such goodness in her. 

“Now,” the professor continued, the moment passing, “it would be unfair to keep Professor McGonagall waiting any longer, don’t you agree?”

Sadie nodded. She glanced one last time at her strange, new reflection in the mirror and then turned and followed Professor Dumbledore down the corridor.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Standing on a rather crooked set of stairs, Sadie clutched the old carpet bag that had been loaned to her and stared at the strange house. Beside her, Professor McGonagall reached out and rapped smartly on the front door. Sadie felt the surge of nerves and fear well up inside her again but she tried valiantly not to let it show. Suddenly, she heard a stampede of footsteps rushing for the door. 

Professor McGonagall glanced at her and obviously saw something of her thoughts reflected on her face. The older witch’s expression softened slightly. “Don’t worry, Sadie. They may sound and often behave like a pack of rather wild monkeys, but they are one of the best wizarding families in all of England. You’ll be fine.”

Sadie nodded weakly just as the door jerked open and the waiting was over.

“I said hush! You are not all going to mob her at the door!” the red-haired woman called over her shoulder to what sounded like a huge crowd. Then she turned around and Sadie suddenly found herself enveloped in a warm, loving hug. Shock swept through her and she froze, panic building. She hadn’t been embraced like that since…since her own mother was alive.

Professor McGonagall came to her rescue.

“Molly, let the child breathe! She’s not going anywhere,” she said exasperatedly.

The red-haired woman clung on for a few seconds longer then reluctantly let go and stepped back, wiping a hand at suspiciously glistening eyes. Sadie sucked in a gulp of air and turned her eyes to the ground, gripping her bag with trembling hands as a tall, red-haired man with glasses appeared behind the woman in the doorway.

“Molly, Arthur,” Professor McGonagall spoke up, “this is Sadie McLauchlin.”

The man reached around his wife and extended his hand to her. “Sadie,” he said solemnly, “you look so much like your father. I’m sure they’ve told you he was a very good friend of mine, your mother as well, and we’re so glad to have you staying with us.”

Mention of her parents sent a burst of unexpected pain through her. It had been so long since she allowed herself to think of them – to remember… Still, she was an expert at ignoring pain, so she shoved the hurt away and juggled her bag to one side. Hesitantly, she shook his hand, unnerved by the formality. 

“Well, there’s no need for us to all keep standing here in the doorway,” Mrs. Weasley bustled, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her toward the house. “Come in and meet everyone.”

Sadie threw a panicked look at Professor McGonagall, causing the old teacher to smile fondly. “You’ll be just fine, Sadie. I shall see you at Hogwarts at start of term.” She barely had time to nod before she was drawn into the house by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Despite her fear, Sadie found she couldn’t help looking around in awe. She’d always known her family was magical, that she was a witch, but she’d also known they had to try and keep that magic hidden; they were trying to pass as Muggles after all. So she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected from the house of an openly magical family but this certainly wasn’t it. The fading memories of her own, large farmhouse were of a comfortable mix of ordinary Muggle items and carefully disguised magical ones. Her mother had thrived on order and neatness, relishing the challenge of carving a home out of the old place that embraced their magic but didn’t advertise it. This, however, was far from orderly and neat. Instead it was all haphazard afghans, tea kettles, and well-worn furniture, oozing magic left and right.

Then Sadie noticed what seemed to be a whole crowed of ginger-haired people surrounding her and she forgot all about the house itself. Her alarm returned full force and she gulped, looking down at her new shoes when she realized they were all staring at her. Finally, someone spoke.

“Are you sure she’s Harry’s cousin, Dad?” one of the tall teenagers asked, standing next to someone who obviously had to be his twin. “Because with hair like that I’d say she’s actually our cousin.”

Several people chuckled and Sadie self-consciously reached up and touched the end of the long, red plait that hung over her shoulder. Mrs. Weasley frowned at her son but the comment broke the tension and Mr. Weasley stepped forward.

“Let me introduce everyone,” he said. He started at the tall man with long hair on the far right. “This is Bill, our eldest.” He then pointed to the twins. “George and Fred. And behind them is Charlie, our second oldest. And then Percy. He just finished Hogwarts and has a new job working at the Ministry.” 

Sadie thought Percy, a tall kid with glasses like his father, looked rather annoyed by the whole process going on around him, but Mr. Weasley ignored this and kept on with the introductions. He placed his hands on the shoulders of the only ginger-haired girl in the room. “This is Ginny, our only daughter. She’ll be a third year at Hogwarts this autumn. And this is our youngest son Ron, his friend Hermione, and last but not least your cousin, Harry Potter.”

Sadie’s head was spinning from the introductions, and she knew there was no way she’d remember all these names until she’d heard them several times, but one name she did recognize – Harry Potter. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had both spoken of him often in the last few days, but more than that, she remembered – long ago conversations by her parents about her Aunt Lily, Uncle James and Cousin Harry…drawings carefully colored and childish letters penned to be folded happily and sent away…her mother’s quiet pain when nothing ever came back in return…

She stared intently at the dark-haired boy before her, lost in a whirl of emotions and questions of her own. They both wore glasses but that was their only real resemblance. In fact, they probably didn’t appear any more related than the rest of the world, her taking after her dad and Harry, she suddenly realized, looking very much like the boy she remembered seeing in her mum’s old photo albums. 

“Um, hi,” her cousin said awkwardly, waving a little before shoving his hands nervously into his pockets as Sadie realized she’d been staring. Blushing again, she barely returned his wave. They stared at each other for a moment more then looked away, both uncomfortably aware they had no idea what else to say. And it was not as if that was even an option for her anyway.

If she was completely honest with herself, Sadie knew that was one of the roots of her paralyzing fear. So many years spent in silence had changed her, and even though she’d fought back, embracing the opportunity to learn sign language when given it and finally reclaim her voice, it was no longer her first instinct to use words. On the streets, signs meant nothing to most people, or worse, signaled a weakness. As long as she didn’t try to communicate, she could let people believe she was only shy, but as soon as she tried to speak, whether it was through signing or writing, the truth was out there, leaving her exposed and vulnerable – an easy target. She might be safe now, but she couldn’t shake the ingrained feeling that she would willingly be giving up an advantage to be used against her if she answered with her hands.

To her immense relief, Mrs. Weasley broke the loaded silence. “George, take Sadie’s bag up to Ginny’s room please,” she said, springing into action and issuing orders to fill the pause. “I hope you won’t mind bunking with the girls as we’re a little full up right now with everyone home for the match tomorrow.”

Sadie shook her head quickly. 

“Good,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, wrapping an arm around Sadie’s shoulders once again. This time she managed not to flinch. “For heaven’s sake, child, you’re skin and bones! Come eat some breakfast!” The plump woman guided her through into a homey kitchen and pushed her gently into a chair at the old, scarred table before bustling off. “Arthur, the second leaf for the table, please? Charlie, Ron, the plates. Fred, glasses and silverware. Percy, the – ”

“Mother,” Percy interrupted. “I’ll be late for the office.”

“Oh, all right then, Percy, but do try to be home in time for dinner.”

Percy nodded, then gathered up a formal looking briefcase and hurried out of the kitchen door. Sadie watched Mrs. Weasley sigh as she followed her son’s retreating back, but then the woman shook her head and turned to the breakfast preparations again. “Bill, could you manage the toast instead? Hermione and Ginny, come help me with the bacon and boiled eggs.”

At the table, Sadie sat in awe of the chaos going on around her, feeling more than a little lost. She liked this family of happy, boisterous red-heads, but it had been so long since her life had included ordinary things like breakfast, setting the table, and people caring for each other that she felt vastly out of place. 

And they were so _loud_! 

Still, watching them stirred long buried memories of her family. On the dim edges of her mind she could remember crazy family dinners – her brothers running wild, little Clara giggling... Sorrow crept through her with smoky tendrils, dulled by years and distance from a sharp jab into a deep, always-present ache. The memories hurt, but still she craved them as they were all she had left now. She was just trying to remember exactly what her dad had always liked on his toast when someone sat down beside her.

“Sometimes it’s easier to just stay out of their way,” Harry said, giving her a tentative grin. “There’s no stopping Ron’s mum when she decides someone needs fattening up. I should know.”

Sadie pulled herself back out of the past and tried to return the smile with a tiny one of her own, feeling very shy. As she did she felt something strange pass between them, as if they both just realized that given time they could be friends.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sadie,” Harry said impulsively.

Sadie blushed and ducked her head, but then remembered what both Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had asked her to do. Forcing herself to give real words a try, Sadie reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out the little notebook and pencil. 

_I’m glad to be here, too_ , she wrote. And as she spelled it out, she realized that she really was. She was still very much terrified, but for the first time she found herself looking forward to this new future she’d been abruptly swept up in. It was everything she’d craved for so long.

“Breakfast is ready!” Mrs. Weasley called cheerfully just as Harry was reading her words, and they were surrounded by everyone else before he could do more than smile in reply.

*****

Harry noticed that Sadie kept her notebook out on the table while they ate but the hearty meal was half over before she used it again. 

“How do you know Professor McGonagall so well?” Charlie asked her suddenly during a lull in the conversation. Left with a question she couldn’t answer with a nod or shake of her head, Harry watched Sadie hesitate before reaching for the little book.

She wrote for a moment before turning it around and showing the room. _I remember her from before…when I was a little girl_.

That didn’t really answer anything, but Harry could still hear Hermione’s lecture from last night in his head and so he held back his questions.

“You know you can sign to us,” Mrs. Weasley said softly. “We might not understand it right now, but how else are we supposed to learn, dear?”

Sadie’s eyes widened in surprise. _You want to learn_? she wrote quickly.

“Of course!”

“Yeah!”

“This will be great!”

Harry watched as Sadie’s shocked expression deepened at the enthusiastic answers, but he noticed a flicker of pleasure beneath it.

“Which kind do you use?” Hermione asked politely and Harry rolled his eyes. Typical Hermione, knowing there were different types of sign language. 

She seemed shy at being the center of attention, but Sadie still wrote the answer on her notebook before passing it down the table to Hermione. “ _American Sign Language_ ,” his friend read out loud. “Why American and not British?” she asked, handing the little book back so Sadie could answer.

Sadie wrote again and then turned the book around to show the room her answer. _Because that’s where I was when I learned, in New York City_ , was the rather cryptic answer. 

“You were in New York?” Harry blurted. No one had told him that!

Sadie nodded.

“Wicked!” Fred jumped in enthusiastically.

“What was it like?” added George.

“Oh, New York City has the largest magical population in the United States, even bigger than Salem and Roanoke Island!” Hermione suddenly cut in excitedly before Sadie could even answer George’s question, her eyes bright with the thrill of sharing information. “The American Ministry is there, as well as the Ralph and Mary Hall Wizarding Museum and Library! There’s a whole magical sixth borough in the city that the Muggles don’t even know about. It sits on an island in Lower New York Bay and there’s a special subway car that runs to it that only witches and wizards can find. It’s so fascinating! I –”

“– read all about it in some book or another,” Ron, Fred and George all finished for her at the same time.

Harry laughed along with the rest of the Weasleys as Hermione blushed slightly, glaring good naturedly at Ron and the twins. “Well, it is fascinating,” she defended. The she turned to Sadie again. “Did you spend a lot of time there? Were you ever able to visit the Museum and Library? I would absolutely love to go there sometime!”

Sadie stared at them for a long moment, a strange expression on her face, before she picked up her notebook again. This time she wrote slowly and seemed to hesitate before turning it around to show them.

_No, I never went there. It wasn’t safe. I stayed in the regular parts of the city._

Harry wondered what she meant by it wasn’t safe. He looked at her carefully and noticed she seemed a little pale and her hands were trembling. Before he could ask, however, the conversation moved forward, so he made a mental note to try and talk to his new cousin sometime. Once he knew her a bit better.

“Did you always live in the city?” Mr. Weasley asked.

Sadie shook her head no. _I lived on a farm in Vermont when I was little_ , she wrote next, her hands steadier with the new topic.

“But you learned to sign in the city, right?”

To Harry it seemed almost as if Mr. Weasley was very carefully and gently fishing for information, as though maybe he was just as clueless about Sadie’s past as the rest of them. 

Sadie nodded this time. She paused, and Harry wondered if she would let that stand as her complete answer, but finally she lowered her head and wrote again.

 _There was a large Muggle library. I went there a lot. It was warm and dry and I loved the books. They offered some free classes and sign language was one of them. That’s where I learned. I’m still learning. Only been signing for about a year and a half now._

With sudden clarity, Harry found he understood what his cousin was _not_ saying. She went to the library because it was warm and dry, meaning wherever she was living was not. And no one had offered to teach her to sign, give her back a way to communicate – she had to find that on her own. That told him more than anything else about her situation. If she’d been living with even half-way decent people, they would have found a way for her to communicate. Even a Muggle orphanage would have done that much. So, either those she’d been living with didn’t care at all that she was stuck in silence, or she wasn’t living with anyone – she was completely on her own. 

Harry felt a rush of sadness, which surprised him slightly as he still didn’t really even know this girl who was his cousin, but he felt it just the same. He’d often thought bitterly that living on the streets might be preferable to living with the Dursleys, but he didn’t really mean it. As miserable as it was at Privet Drive, he did still have a roof over his head when it rained or snowed, a bed to sleep in, and usually food – if grapefruit counted as food. 

“So, what was the city like?” George broke into Harry’s thoughts, going back to his original question that had been overlooked in the subsequent conversation.

Sadie’s eyes glazed over and her expression became slightly haunted. When she showed them her notebook this time there was only one word on it.

_Lonely._

A sorrowful silence fell around them and everyone spent a few awkward moments shoveling food into their mouths, Harry and all the rest uncomfortably aware they didn’t know what to say to that. Finally, Bill broke the mood.

“Hey, Sadie,” he said, a forced cheerfulness in his voice. “How would I sign ‘please pass the pumpkin juice’?”

Sadie thought for a moment, then moved her hands slowly through a serious of motions, everyone watching carefully. Bill studied them and then tried to copy the motions back.

“Mate, that was awful,” Fred laughed as they all watched the grinning curse breaker struggle with the signs.

“Yeah, don’t quit your day job,” added Charlie as laughter broke out around the table once again.

It saved the meal, dragging the collective mood of the room back out of the dark corners it had been plunged into. They spent the rest of the time engaged in a lively game of “How Do You Sign” with someone pointing out an object and the group all trying to copy the signs Sadie showed them, more often than not making a great mess of things and ending up roaring with more laughter. The activity helped pull the mute girl out of her shell, and by the end Harry was happy to see her laughing silently along with the rest. Not surprisingly, Hermione was by far the quickest at learning the new language, but Harry was rather shocked when Fred and George seemed to grasp it with relative ease as well.

“This is brilliant!” Fred exclaimed after having successfully signed something to his twin and understood the answer.

“Outstanding!” George agreed enthusiastically.

“Just think of the future!”

“Whole conversations – ”

“ – right under others’ noses!”

“No more whispering – ”

“ – or passing notes in class!”

“Why didn’t we think of this before?” they finished in unison.

Harry laughed along with everyone else except for Hermione and Mrs. Weasley who just looked scandalized.

*****

Finally alone, Sadie sat on a soft chair in the sitting room of the Weasleys’ house – the Burrow she’d learned it was called. She smiled at the thought that a home could have a name, just like a person or an animal. Names were powerful; people named the things they loved. And they stripped them away from the things they did not…

She shivered, curling her feet up underneath her tighter and staring at the arm of the chair where a small bit of stuffing was escaping from a hole in the upholstery. There was a book open on her lap, loaned to her by her appalled cousin when he’d learned she knew none of the official rules for the sport they were going to watch tomorrow, but she wasn’t really reading it. Her thoughts were lost, stuck in the past. Before her eyes danced not the words on the page but a memory instead, one burned into her mind...

_She waited so long at the doorway trying to find the courage to enter the room that she almost missed her chance. At the last moment, she clenched her hands and forced herself to slip inside, melting into a seat in the back corner and trying to be invisible._

_She knew what she looked like – what she probably smelled like as well. No one noticed outside, or in the forgotten nooks and crannies of the library she usually frequented, but she was fully aware that in here, where real people existed, she did not belong._

_But she wanted to – she_ needed _to._

_She’d watched them leave two days ago, hiding in the shadows as she waited for the hallway and her path to the secret room with the water spigot to clear, just another class full of people who led normal lives letting out. Until she saw the teacher stop and answer a question – with his voice, but also with his hands._

_She’d froze, emotions so strong shooting through it rendered her numb._

People could speak with their hands?

_The millions of trapped thoughts that filled her head, bashing around and around against her skull for years, all whirled to life at once. Overwhelmed, she’d fled – from the hallway and the building itself – running back to the dingy corner of the city that was hers for now, until someone forced her to move on. For two days after she hadn’t moved, fighting a mighty inner battle, her strongest emotions at war – fear verses hope._

_Hope won._

_And so she sat in the class, a ragged shadow in the back, desperately soaking up every word like a dying man who’s been lost in the desert does water. Watching everything, hearing everything, savoring it all._

_The teacher’s hands moved fluidly, forming words, never knowing the key they were providing – the lock they turned._

_She tried to slip out unnoticed when the class was done, but her luck ran out._

_“Hey, wait,” a voice called, and she drew back in fear still several feet from the doorway and her escape._

_With longing eyes she watched the rest of the class file out as the teacher came up to her. She turned back to find the man studying her, his expression soft and far too knowing. She felt exposed…vulnerable…scared._

_“You weren’t here last week, were you?”_

_She shook her head, staring at the hole in her left shoe where her two largest toes stuck out. She knew what was coming. She would be told she had to leave. The lock would be shut again and the key taken away._

_“What’s your name?”_

_Rage, frustration, fear, shame… The familiar plethora of paralyzing feelings swarmed her, making her feel like she would burst, but all she could do – all she could ever do – was stare at the teacher and helplessly shake her head._

_Something sparked in the man’s eyes; it almost seemed like sorrow. “Oh,” he said and then was silent for a very long time. Suddenly, he dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Why don’t you take these,” he said, thrusting the objects at her, “and then I’ll see you next Tuesday for class.”_

_And then the teacher had walked away leaving her clutching the objects in shock._

_Later that night, in large letters that wobbled and swayed from ages without practice, a grubby, awkward hand gripped the pen and pushing way too hard on the pad of paper wrote the words:_ My name is Sadie, My name is Sadie, _over and over again, until at least two precious pages were filled._

_For the first time in at least five years, her words finally escaped their prison in her mind._

_And she had reclaimed her name._

*****

From the hall outside the sitting room doorway, Arthur silently watched the newest member of his household with troubled eyes as she sat in the chair, unmoving, staring off at what he knew must be memories only she could see. He understood her expression because he shared it, his own memories and emotions rising to the surface of his mind as he stared at her, saw the echo of her father in her face, her hair… The other children were all outside, gleefully trying to kill each other as only teenagers could do, but Sadie stayed behind, content to sit alone.

Arms suddenly slipped gently around him and a chin came to rest on his shoulder.

“Have you told her yet?” Molly whispered, turning to place a gentle kiss against his cheek. “That Charlie and Jenny made us her godparents?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. I don’t know how to bring it up without opening the door to all of her painful memories.”

“That door’s already open, dear,” Molly replied sadly, moving around to stand beside him and gesturing with her head to the girl before them, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t moved for almost ten minutes. “Just look at her.”

Arthur put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “How do we help her, Molly?” he continued their hushed conversation, his heart breaking.

“With time and patience and understanding…and lots and lots of love. We can do that, Arthur. The proof’s outside, tromping through my roses and hoping I won’t notice if he gets Bill to mend them. Sadie isn’t the only slightly broken child around here.”

He couldn’t stop the sad smile her words brought to his lips. “Harry at least has no trouble expressing himself.”

“Sadie will get there. Just give her time.”

With a sigh, Arthur let his head fall on top of Molly’s and pulled her close, letting the past creep back up on them again just like the young girl they watched over.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sadie woke incredibly early the next morning and lay awake, listening to the unaccustomed sound of others breathing around her. It was strange, after being alone for so long, to sleep in the same room as the two girls she’d met the day before. Strange, but somehow nice as well.

They’d told her they were excited to be her friends. Sadie didn’t know how that made her feel exactly. She’d never really had friends before. Siblings, but never a friend. It was an exciting thought, making friends like a normal teenager, but it was also distressing as she had no idea how to do it or what to expect. She’d been alone for so long, shoved aside and forgotten…

Knowing her mind was too full of whirling thoughts to go back to sleep, Sadie pulled her glasses off the top of her carpet bag and slipped them on, giving her a view of the dark of a bedroom hours before dawn. She glanced around the room. Wild brown hair tumbled out of blankets on the camp bed next to hers, Hermione Granger curled in a ball and all but hidden by her blankets. Ginny Weasley by contrast lay sprawled on her bed, covers kicked to the bottom, sleeping peacefully.

Moving silently so she didn’t wake the other girls, Sadie slid off her own camp bed and crept the two steps in the small room to the window. The moon and stars still hung brightly in the pre-dawn sky as she gazed out and they gave her enough light to make out the outlines of trees and hills around. Her memory from yesterday filled in the rest.

It was so beautiful here! She’d often thought nothing could compare to the beauty of the Vermont countryside she’d grown up with, but this gloriously green place definitely came close. It made her want to pull off her shoes and slip away through the grass exploring, as if she were a little girl of six instead of a jaded girl of sixteen, as if her innocence and life hadn’t been shattered by the last seven years. Perhaps, somehow, this place and these people could be a new beginning for her, a way past the sorrow, pain, and horror she’d lived with since she was nine. She’d pleaded silently for so many years for another chance – maybe she was finally going to get it. 

Shaking her head to clear it of memories that shouldn’t ever surface, Sadie snagged the book Harry had let her borrow and opened it by the window, using the moonlight to read with.

She wasn’t completely ignorant about Quidditch; her brothers and dad had loved to talk about it, and now she thought about it she remembered that sometimes her dad would take the boys off into the woods to a secluded meadow where they could play mock games. Sadie barely remembered going with them once. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel again the thrill of zooming around on the back of a broom, clinging to Archie’s shoulders as the wind whipped her hair about her face, squealing with glee, but when she reopened her eyes, the memory slid away like sand through a sieve, leaving only Ginny Weasley’s dark bedroom behind.

Full of sorrow, Sadie turned back to the book and the chapter she’d been working her way through that explained all the rules of the game. She was only a few pages in when the bedroom door creaked quietly open and Mrs. Weasley appeared. She looked around and noticed Sadie sitting by the window.

“You’re already up!” she whispered in surprise. “Did you sleep all right?”

Sadie nodded, standing. She held Harry’s book up for the woman to see.

“Oh, trying to catch up a bit, dear?”

Sadie nodded again.

“Well, why don’t you get dressed and head on down to the kitchen while I wake Ginny and Hermione. Breakfast is ready and the boys should be there soon.”

Sadie quickly grabbed some clothes, choosing a button up shirt and jeans this time as they seemed more appropriate than her skirt for a sporting event, and then ducked into the bathroom, grateful for the chance to change away from curious eyes. It was as she was pulling off her nightdress that she realized that wouldn’t be an option for very much longer if she was to live in a dorm with several other girls. The thought sent a tide of panic rising inside her again. She tried to hold it back as she slipped on the new shirt but her fingers trembled as they worked on the buttons.

How could she possibly hope to hide the marks? What would the other girls think when they inevitably saw? What would she say to explain?

Trying to quell her shaking, Sadie finished dressing swiftly, then splashed some water on her face before brushing her hair back into its usual braid, telling herself the whole time it would somehow be okay.

The worry wasn’t gone but she’d at least managed to contain it and stop the shaking by the time she stepped out of the little room. As she was leaving she met the boys trudging down the stairs half awake.

“Mphm, Saay,” muttered the tall twin who had at least half an eye open and Sadie supposed it was meant to be ‘Morning, Sadie.’ Ron and Harry nodded at her as well while the other twin just leaned heavily on the handrail and looked ready to start snoring. Apparently, this house was not full of morning people.

The sight of the four disheveled and sleepy boys had an unexpected effect on Sadie. She felt her panic from before start to dissolve away. Instead, an emotion she hadn’t experienced for so very long bubbled up inside her – the urge to laugh – and she couldn’t stop the huge grin that split her face. 

“How can you smile at this time of the morning?” asked Ron incredulously, most of his words coming through a huge yawn.

“Because she’s evil,” muttered the more awake twin, switching eyes to squint out of in a vain effort to wake up. “People who are chipper this early are very, very evil.”

Somehow, the whole strange conversation made Sadie feel more at home and welcome than anything else, and so she just smiled again and followed the boys down to the ground level of the house.

Despite the early hour, the kitchen was bright and warm. Mrs. Weasley, who must have returned to the kitchen while Sadie was in the bathroom, was puttering cheerfully around the stove while Mr. Weasley sat at the old table, looking fully awake and excited. The boys struck up a conversation with him, something about Muggle clothes and Apparating. Sadie left them to it and shyly moved over to the stove by the red-haired woman.

*Can I help?* she signed slowly, hoping the woman would somehow understand.

“Oh, thank you, dear, but it’s all ready. Just have a seat and eat up.”

Sadie did as she was told, taking the offered bowl of porridge with a grateful nod. It was only a simple meal, but to Sadie it was wonderful. Hunger had been her one constant companion during the last seven years. She knew what it was like to be weak and dizzy from it, to honestly think she might not make it through the night. That nice but fussy Healer who’d examined her at the school had told the professors lack of proper food for so long was part of why she was smaller than others her age. After suffering so much from the lack of it, Sadie knew good, plentiful food was something she would never take for granted.

She realized she’d become lost in her thoughts again when Mrs. Weasley suddenly snapped sharply at one of the twins, causing her to accidentally drop her spoon on the floor. Blushing, she ducked to retrieve it as an argument broke out between the twins and their mother.

Feeling like an intruder in a private family matter, Sadie returned her spoon to the table and quietly sneaked out, grabbing the borrowed rucksack she’d been given.

The sky was still dark and the moon out. Sadie sat down on an upturned bucket to wait for the rest, soaking up the calm silence. In the stolen moments of solitude, her thoughts wandered, again caught between the present and the past, just as the world around her hung caught between the night and the morning.

Eventually, the door opened and the light of the house spilled out into the dark, bringing people along with it. Sadie stood, but otherwise stayed put, content to observe from the background. Finally, the goodbyes were all said and they were on their way. 

They walked in the dark for a very long time. The others chatted around her but she was grateful no one tried to pull her into a conversation. It would have been too difficult to try and make herself understood and keep up the pace as well. At first she looked around with curiosity at the sleeping village and countryside, but soon she found herself struggling for breath and instead had to concentrate on keeping up, putting one foot in front of the other.

“Are you okay?”

Sadie’s head jerked up and she was surprised to find herself flanked by the tall twins, Fred and George. She nodded quickly, but they didn’t act like they believed her.

“Do you want me to carry that for you?” the one who hadn’t spoken before asked, pointing to her rucksack.

Sadie gripped the straps tightly with both hands and shook her head. Harry’s loaned book was in there, along with a few of the new clothes Professor McGonagall had bought her – but more than that she didn’t want the others thinking she was so helpless and weak she couldn’t carry her own bag.

“All right,” the first twin said with an easy smile, and Sadie made a mental note to learn to tell them apart. 

“But let us know –” finished the other.

“– if you change your mind.”

They both smiled at her one more time and then strode off, moving to catch up to their sister.

The road took them out of the quiet village and up a steep hill. By the time they reached the top, Sadie was trembling and feeling faint. She collapsed on a large rock, panting, and simply watched as all the others looked around for the Portkey. 

The struggle up the hill had left her far weaker than she wanted to admit, but more than that she as finding it increasingly difficult to keep her thoughts rooted firmly in the here and now; they kept wandering unbidden to the shadows of her past, released by the presence of people who pulled at her memories of home and family. It saddened her to realize those images from her childhood were fading, the voices she held so dear were growing faint and fuzzy in her mind. For too long she’d shut the memories out, unable to deal with the pain they also brought, and now she was paying the price.

“Sadie?”

She looked up at her name to find Ginny standing in front of her.

“Come on. We’ve found the Portkey and it’s about to go.”

Sadie scrambled to her feet and followed the younger girl to the rest of the group who were standing in a clump around an old boot. She noticed with surprise that two other people had joined them while she wasn’t paying attention. _Snap out of it_! she admonished herself. It was dangerous to get lost in thoughts and lose track of the present.

Remembering the Portkey that had brought her to England from New York City with Professor McGonagall, Sadie put out a finger to touch the boot and then reached up and gripped her glasses tightly so they wouldn’t fly off her face when she landed. As she felt the magic activate, she closed her eyes and willed her breakfast to stay in her stomach this time.

*****

_Flashes of light above her as creatures zoomed all around._

_Bodies – pushing, pressing, on all sides – too close! Too close!_

_The odors of sweat and sugar and dusty earth filling her nostrils._

_Noise! So much noise! Shouting and raucous singing and cheering! Too much noise!_

_She wanted it to stop! Needed it to go away!_

_Breathe!_ Sadie tried to order herself, tried to listen to the logical part of her brain, but she just couldn’t! It was too much. She was surrounded, swept along in a great flood of people, surging, swelling, threatening to engulf her. Eyes – there were eyes everywhere – and so much magic. She could feel it thick in the air like a fog, waiting to snap and crackle into action. 

Blinded by panic, she wanted to sink to the ground in a ball, throw her arms up and cover her face, shut it all out, but she also knew she didn’t want to go back there, back to being a prisoner held by fear and terror and her own mind. Instead, she reached out and fisted her hands into the back of the jacket worn by the red-haired man walking in front of her, not even sure exactly who it was, and clung on for dear life. 

“IRELAND! IRELAND!” the celebrating crowd around her chanted with wild excitement, but Sadie only felt sick as she allowed herself to be pulled forward, her feet stumbling over the ground as her vision tunneled to include nothing but the black of the jacket she’d latched onto.

 _So much magic! So many wands!_

The hordes pressing in on her from all sides weren’t like the crowds of people she’d learned to slip unnoticed through on the streets of her city – they hadn’t had the power to hurt her, not like _she_ had. But here, Sadie was surrounded by that power, and no matter how much she tried to remind herself that magic was good, could do amazing and wonderful things, her whole body and soul knew the real truth – that it could also be used to inflict pain and terror. 

_Run!_

_Hide!_

The thoughts seared urgently through her brain but she fought them, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tightened her hold on the fabric until her fingers turned bone white, letting the crowd simply carry her along through the cacophony.

*****

Bill Weasley sat quietly in a corner of the tent, his chair tipped back and his boots propped up on a convenient trunk. Around him, everyone else was laughing and squabbling happily about the match, reliving their favorite moments in loud, excited voices as they sipped their hot cocoa, but Bill stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the one other person who wasn’t joining in the revelry: Sadie.

The girl rested cross-legged on the floor, tucked away in another corner, a mug of forgotten cocoa clenched in her hands and her eyes staring off vacantly behind her glasses. The others were so caught up in their post-game revelry that they didn’t even notice. Honestly, Bill probably wouldn’t have noticed either if not for what had happened on the way back from the World Cup.

When his jacket had been grabbed as they jostled through the crowd, he’d turned his head to tell whomever it was to get lost. He’d expected someone who’d taken their celebration a bit too far, but the words froze in his throat as he saw Sadie’s terror-glazed eyes instead. 

Sorrow had filled him and he turned his head back around, letting her cling to his coat for the rest of the walk back to camp, his thoughts churning. 

And they were still churning as he sat there, watching her. Sadie was just a kid, only a few years older than his own kid sister; fear of that sort didn’t belong on anyone’s face, let alone someone so young. What horrors were in her past to make her feel such panic at an event that was supposed to be so much fun?

It worried him. His chosen profession had put him in contact with many of the worst aspects of magic. Some of the curses he encountered were truly horrific and he was grateful they’d been buried and forgotten by time. 

But apparently not buried deep enough…

What curse had been used on this young girl? What evil had someone tampered with to cause such pain and damage? Dark, ancient magic of that kind was not something to be trifled with, nor was it generally plied without personal consequences. The old magic had a way of exacting a price for daring to call upon its power, almost as if it had a mind of its own. That was usually enough to deter any mostly-sane individual from toying with it. It was frightening to think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers were willing to delve into those secrets despite the consequences.

And it was incredible sad that a young, innocent girl knew first hand of such evil, had been hurt so badly by it.

Bill’s attention was suddenly pulled back to his present surroundings when Sadie carefully set down her mug of untouched cocoa on the floor and climbed to her feet, slipping out into the night, her expression haunted. He waited for just a few minutes, then made up his mind, rising quietly so as not to distract the others and following her.

The night outside was clear and bright and full of the sounds of happy celebrations. Fires still burned cheerfully in front of many tents and by the sound of it, the party in the Irish camp had almost reached the point of a riot, illuminated by the near constant flashes of fireworks. 

Bill glanced around, but there was no sign of Sadie. She must have disappeared into the girls’ tent.

He paused for a moment, debating the appropriateness of him entering when she was in there alone, but worry quickly overruled propriety. 

“Sadie?” he called out, announcing his presence as he ducked under the opening and stuck his head through the doorway. “Sadie, may I come in?”

She was curled up in one of the faded armchairs that stood in the tent’s small living area, and judging by the way she jumped, he’d obviously startled her. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was add to the discomfort he could practically see oozing from her. 

Still, the gaze she turned on him was fearful, and for one brief moment distrust flashed across her face before she nodded hesitantly. She straightened in her chair, preparing to stand.

“No, don’t get up. I just wanted to check on you, see if you were okay,” Bill said, coming completely into the tent. Shyly, she settled back into the chair, pulling her feet up underneath her. Bill snagged the other armchair and moved it closer, sitting down across from the sixteen-year-old where he could see her writing with ease if she decided to try and speak. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he added again.

She shrugged, saying without words that it was all right.

For a moment they sat there in silence, Bill studying his new surrogate family member and Sadie studying the pattered rug in order to avoid his gaze.

“You didn’t enjoy the match tonight, did you?” he finally asked quietly.

Sadie’s head jerked up, guilt flashing across her face and she shook her head quickly, as if to deny what he was saying.

“It’s okay, Sadie. You don’t have to like it. Quidditch isn’t for everyone.”

Still looking guilty, Sadie pulled out her notebook and wrote, handing it to him almost reluctantly.

_But the tickets were so expensive._

Bill recalled the conversation from the box before the match had started and mentally cursed Lucious Malfoy.

“Sadie, that doesn’t matter. You never have to pretend to enjoy something when you don’t. Not in this family.”

He waited to see if she would respond, but when she stayed still, he went on.

“Sadie, afterward…in the crowd…”

The girl blanched, ducking her head, but Bill pressed on, sensing this was important. “It was overwhelming, wasn’t it?”

Across from him, Sadie closed her eyes, and suddenly it was as if something let lose inside of her, some kind of barrier she’d been keeping in place by sheer force of will crumbled. Small tears started to leak about from behind her lashes, carving paths down her pale face as she started to tremble. 

Bill acted on instinct, reaching across and taking her hand, squeezing it the same way he would have done if it was Ginny crying in front of him. Surprised, she looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time and he was grateful to see that while the anguish remained, the mistrust was gone.

“Magic –” he said seriously, holding her gaze, “or at least the people who use it – can cause a lot of hurting, can’t it.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t bother to beat around the bush or sugarcoat his words.

She wrinkled her eyes and Bill could see the unasked question in them. 

“I’m a curse breaker,” he explained. “I see the results of evil magic every day.”

 _Oh_ , her eyes seemed to say, even though he could tell she didn’t completely understand what that meant. Shakily, she reached up and wiped at the tears that were still falling down her cheeks with her free hand. 

“Sometimes talking about things can help, you know…” Bill urged kindly, releasing her hand and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

Quickly, she shook her head.

“Don't like sharing much, hmm? I understand that. And I bet the crowd out there tonight isn’t the only thing that has you feeling overwhelmed. We’re not exactly the quietest or calmest bunch around, are we?” he smiled, trying to put her at ease. “It's easy to get lost in a big family - don't always share things myself. But look, Sadie, I can tell you one thing about my lot - they care. We all care and want to help. Whenever you feel ready, you should know that whatever you tell us, however hard or scary it is - we'll treat that confidence with respect, and you too, for having the courage to share it. So, keep your chin up, okay, kiddo.”

She gave him a watery smile at that and finally reached for her notebook again.

 _Archie used to tell me that_ , she wrote, the sorrow back in her eyes. _When I had a bad day._

“Archie…he was one of your brothers?”

Sadie nodded. _The oldest._

 _Poor kid_ , Bill thought, feeling sadness creep back up. So much taken away… They might sometimes drive him insane, but he couldn’t image losing any of his siblings, let alone all of them and his parents, too. He tried not to let his thoughts show, however, as he spoke.

“Archie sounds like a smart guy.”

Sadie smiled for real this time as she nodded. _He was brilliant_ , she wrote, and Bill could see the pride contained in those three words. 

“Well, I reckon I’m hardly fit to be called brilliant,” he said with a shrug, “but I _have_ always felt it would be nice to have more sisters in this family. How about it? Care to adopt me as a big brother?”

Sadie looked at him for a long moment before she broke into a shy grin. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he replied. “Now, as an official big brother, I want you to remember that I’m always here to listen, about anything, all right? I’m not pushing…just want you to know that. And feel free to ask any questions you want as well. I know there are probably a lot of things you’re confused about right now.”

She seemed to mull his words over for a moment before she picked up her notebook and wrote a few words. Bill hoped she might be about to open up slightly, but when she turned it around so he could read, the question wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

_My cousin – Harry – is he famous?_

Bill leaned back in the chair, laughing out loud. “Picked up on that, did you?”

This time when Sadie answered, she did so with hesitant motions of her hands, which Bill took as a very encouraging sign. He didn’t know exactly what she was saying, but when she made a small zigzag motion with her finger across her forehead he figured it out.

“People were looking at his scar?” he checked. “And whispering?”

Sadie nodded.

“Typical,” he muttered rather grimly. Sadie looked puzzled. “Ask him about it. He’ll tell you, I’m sure, but it’s really not my place.”

The girl nodded again and Bill noticed she looked exhausted.

“Well, I reckon I’ll go see if the others are done arguing about Quidditch plays,” he said, rising to his feet. “You going to be okay?”

She smiled at him. It was still a smile tinged with pain, but on the edges of it he could detect the glimmer of hope as well.

“Good,” he replied. “But I mean it. If you ever need a brother to just listen, even when you’re at Hogwarts, send me an owl.”

*Thanks,* the teenager signed, something Bill had no trouble understanding.

He smiled one last time and then ducked back out into the chilly night.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Emerging from the tent, Fred stopped and stared in shock at the sight before him. The burning tents cast an eerie glow over the night, and screams that pierced the air sent chills up and down his spine. Seeing the silhouettes of the Muggle family high up in the air, he also felt a flash of anger. He turned to George, unspoken words of disgust passing between them. Jokes and pranks were one thing, but pain and cruelty were never funny.

The girls stumbled from the other tent still in their nightdresses, looking scared and bewildered, just as his older brothers also rushed out into the chaos, prepared to fight. For just a moment, Fred felt a pang of envy. George and he were almost seventeen; he wanted to be out there, too – helping, fighting the masked mob – but then he caught sight of Ginny’s pale face as their dad told them to stick together and hide in the woods and he quelled his jealousy. Hermione made a beeline to Harry and Ron, but Ginny planted herself next to George and him, her eyes scared. Meanwhile, Sadie stood alone looking lost and terrified, her arms wrapped tightly around her trembling frame. The flashes of the fires glinted off her glasses and illuminated the trails of tiny tears down her cheeks.

Fred made up his mind.

“C’mon*,” he said to all the others, reaching out and taking Ginny’s hand. He squeezed it tightly and then tugged her forward.

“Wait,” Ginny replied in a shaky voice, forcing him to stop. She stretched out her free hand to Sadie. “Here, Sadie,” she said urgently. The older girl blinked as if coming out of a trance and after a moment of hesitation, grasped Ginny’s other hand.

George led the way, plowing a path for them through the masses, and Fred followed close behind, his grip on Ginny’s hand like iron. Ron and his friends brought up the end of their frantic group. They pushed deeper into the woods for a long time, the sound of the growing mob spurring them on, tripping and stumbling through the darkness all while getting jostled from every side.

“Oi, watch it!” Fred growled angrily when a random elbow suddenly shot out and caught him in the eye. He shoved back at the strangers around him, his temper starting to flare even though he knew it was an accident. “George, let’s get out of this mess!”

George nodded and veered off the path, pulling out his wand and lighting it. He led off into the darkness, away from the panicked crowd. Eventually, they came upon a tiny clearing that held a large boulder, all hidden by a thicket of trees. They all stopped.

There was a strange stillness in the air, and Fred noticed for the first time that it was quiet again. It was as if the world around them was holding its breath – waiting…

 _And now you’re losing it, Weasley_ , he chided himself, shaking his head.

Ginny tugged her hand out of his and turned around. “Where’re the others?” she gasped fearfully, breaking the strange quiet.

Fred whipped around. Sadie stood silent and shaky behind them, but there was no sign of the other three. He swore under his breath.

“Bloody gits probably doubled back and are right in the middle of things now!” George growled.

“We’ve got to go find them!” Ginny pleaded, tugging on his jacket sleeve.

Fred shook his head, agreeing wholeheartedly with his brother. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were drawn to danger like moths to the flame. If there was a disaster happening you could bet the three would be in the thick of it. 

“No,” he said with annoyance, promising to pound Ron later for ditching them. “We’d just end up going in circles looking for them. I’m sure they’re fine,” he grumbled, wishing he’d thought of it first, but also knowing he couldn’t drag Ginny into it. “If anyone can take care of themselves, it’s those three,” he tried to assure his sister.

“Come here, Gin,” George called. He flopped down on the ground and leaned back against the boulder, patting the dirt and dry leaves beside him. “Wanna see our newest sweet?”

“I thought Mum took them all,” his sister replied, sitting next to George and tucking her feet up inside her nightdress against the chill.

“She didn’t check Ron or Harry’s rucksacks did she? Life-lesson, little sis: always have a backup plan.”

“Sneaky,” she said with approval.

Fred grinned to himself as he listened in on their conversation. They _had_ put on quite a show, pretending their mum had just cleaned them out, all the while knowing that Harry and Ron were really unwittingly smuggling most of their stock out of the house. The minute the trio took off to get water, Fred had sidled over and retrieved their goods and no one was the wiser. They’d made a killing on the treats as they wandered around talking to friends before the match.

Pretty bloody brilliant if you asked him.

As George proceeded to tell Ginny all about their new invention, Fred glanced again at Sadie. The quiet girl still just stood there, as if in a daze, hugging herself so tightly with shaky arms he was amazed that she wasn’t short of breath. For the first time, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a jacket over her night clothes like the rest of them. 

Had she been in such a hurry she’d forgot to grab one?

Or maybe she didn’t even have one? The carpetbag she’d arrived with yesterday had been small and old, and Fred remembered it had seemed pretty empty.

Pulling off his own jacket, he walked up to her. “You okay?” he asked as he draped it around her shoulders. 

When he touched her, she jumped and turned frightened eyes on him. Fred felt a pang of sorrow shoot through him as he realized her first instinctual reaction to any surprise was fear. In his world, surprises were for fun and laughter; he lived for them. He and George were going to have to work at fixing this.

“Hey, just Fred here, and I wash it once a year, promise,” he said lightly, choosing to purposefully ignore her reaction. He pulled the jacket all the way around her tightly. “Besides, Dad would be a bit miffed with me if I had to tell him when we go back that I let you freeze to death.”

The haze of terror started to clear from her eyes slightly and she offered him a tiny smile. Gratefully, she uncurled her stiff arms and slipped them into the sleeves of the jacket.

“So, crazy night, huh?” Fred said conversationally, shoving his own hands into his armpits to stay warm. “Have you decided we’re all nutters?”

Sadie looked at him quickly and then ducked her head shyly as she shook it.

“Liar,” he teased. “We are all perfectly crazy and don’t you ever forget it.”

She smiled at him for real this time, but Fred could still see a caution in her expression. He wanted to ask what was wrong, why the mob had frightened her so much more than the rest of them, but he knew she would be unable to reply. He couldn’t understand her signing yet, and he could tell she didn’t have her little notebook.

How frustrating that must be, to not be able to make yourself understood! Especially around people who didn’t care enough to try. Fred couldn’t help thinking it was going to be incredibly difficult for Sadie when they arrived at Hogwarts. Too bad there wasn’t a way to make things easier for her.

Then just as they always did when he caught the spark of what was sure to be a brilliant idea, the wheels in Fred’s brain started to turn. He was about to say something but he was startled by the sound of terrified screams restarting, coming from the woods all around them.

“What the -!” he said harshly.

“Look!” Ginny yelled, cutting him off, and Fred turned to find her pointing frantically up through the trees. Where just moments before had been dark sky and bright stars was now a huge, glowing, green skull swallowing a snake.

Fred gasped. He wasn’t supposed to know what it was, but he did. George and he knew a lot more than people sometimes gave them credit for. “The Dark Mark,” he breathed, shaking his head. The night had just crossed the line from horrible pranks gone out of control to something much more deadly and sinister. For the first time since he was dragged from his bed, he actually felt a shiver of fear. 

*****

The moment that ghastly green image appeared in the sky, instincts that had been ingrained too deeply to ever forget took hold of Sadie, and she couldn’t fight the need to flee any longer. Giving in, she turned and ran, crashing deeper into the thick trees. Voices cried out behind her but she paid no attention. Branches whipped across her face and arms, pulling at her clothes and hair, but she didn’t care. She just knew she had to get away!

But before she could make an escape, she was yanked to a stop as a hand grabbed her arm. She would have yelped in shock if she could have. Instead she struggled wildly but a pair of arms wrapped tightly around her, much stronger than she was, and forced her to a stop.

“Whoa, Sadie!” C’mon, calm down!” said a now familiar voice in her ear just as George and Ginny caught up to them, panting heavily.

“Why in Merlin’s name did you take off like that?” groused George breathlessly. “A little warning next time, please!”

Sadie’s heart was thumping right out of her chest. She couldn’t control the tremors that ran up and down her arms and legs as ice cold panic raced through her veins. She pushed against Fred again but he refused to unwrap his arms.

Angry, she clenched her fists in frustration. Didn’t they understand? They all needed to run! Hide! Horrible, awful things were going to happen and they were just standing there calmly, wanting to talk!

“You’ve seen the Dark Mark before, huh?” asked Fred in a voice that was suddenly much softer.

Terrible scenes assaulted Sadie like a tidal wave, and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to stop them, but she couldn’t as they were escaping from her own memory.

_Her throat was raw from her screams and her pleading, hiccupping sobs._

_“No, no, no…” she wailed, and once again she tried to turn away from the sight that was ripping her apart, but the rough hands across her neck and forehead tightened, stopping her._

_“Shut up and hold still, little girl,” an unfamiliar voice ordered quietly. “This is your first lesson.”_

_Desperately, she closed her eyes, but a biting slap snapped them open again._

_“Eyes open! Watch!”_

_Another flash and deafening pop and another piece of her heart dropped onto her mother’s polished floor._

_“DADDY!” she screamed, more tears flooding her cheeks. “No, no, NO! STOP!”_

_No one listened. The slim hand that gripped the horrible, Muggle contraption turned and another bang sounded. As she watched Robbie fall this time the black image of the skull and snake on the pale skin of the weapon-bearing arm burned into her mind._

_Her wails became feral and uncontrolled._

_“Silence!” snapped a cold voice that until a few hours ago she had loved. “Stop this incessant screaming. You will watch and learn!”_

_Another flash. Another pop._

_“MUMMY!” She sagged boneless toward the ground, supported only by the hands that restrained her, her shrieks splitting the cool, night air._

_“Stop, stop, stop!” she begged. “Don’t hurt them! Don’t! I don’t wanna see, I don’t wanna see! Don’t make me watch anymore!”_

_A pressure was building in her head, behind her eyes. The force of her screams. The anguish and terror in her chest. The violent, hysterical need to have it stop, to not see the flashes of light, the crumbling forms that she loved so fiercely. It pulsated, like a living creature, and washed her vision out in red – red for anger, red for fear, red for blood._

_And black. The black of a skull swallowing a snake that seemed to twist and writhe with each turn of the cruel hand._

_Flash. Pop._

_“NOOOOOOOOOO!”_

_And without warning something seemed to snap inside her mind. The black of that awful image swelled…grew…ate her up and the scene before her was gone, lost in a darkness thicker than the deepest night._

_But that didn’t stop her from hearing the continued pops and thuds._

_Or the sound of her own screams, until strange words were muttered and suddenly something seemed to wrap around her throat and even her screams were ripped away from her._

Forcefully, Sadie yanked herself out of the most awful memory of her life and finally managed to push away Fred’s arms. He let go with no resistance this time and took a step back, staring at her with a strange, pale expression.

“Sadie, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked in a small voice. “You’re crying.”

She reached a trembling hand up to her face and found that Ginny was right; her cheeks were wet with tears. George was also looking at her with a mixture of concern and confusion. Sadie glanced at them for a long moment before turning her eyes away, staring off through the trees into the darkness. Purposefully, she didn’t look up toward the sky.

How could she tell them? How could she explain that the sight of that evil symbol had ripped the protective layer she’d build off of wounds that had never really healed to begin with? And even if a miracle occurred and they were able to understand her, would she even want them to know? To see how weak she’d been? To know she’d just stood there and watched them all die?

“We should head back to the tents, find Dad and the others,” Fred suddenly said, his voice strangely solemn and insistent. Sadie glanced back at him and was surprised to see he was trembling as well.

“Fred?” George asked, his eyes narrowed as he moved over to his twin’s side.

“I’m fine,” Fred snapped, stepping back from George and wrapping his arms around himself. “Just cold. Let’s go back.”

George looked like he wanted to press for more, but he held his tongue. “Okay,” he said instead and grabbed Ginny’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Grateful to have the attention diverted from her, Sadie simply followed, shivering violently despite the jacket Fred had loaned her, the whispers of gunshots echoing in her head.

* Quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, p120.

 

P.S. If you're reading and enjoying this, I'd love to hear from you. :)


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Special Thanks:** A note of thanks to all the people who helped me work through issues in this chapter and get my writing going again. You know who you are and I’m so very grateful.

*****

Two days after the World Cup, the rain came down in waves. Mr. Weasley and the Weasley brother she saw the least – Percy – were at work. Mrs. Weasley was busy in the kitchen and the rest of the family were scattered throughout the wonderfully odd house, but Sadie stood before the sitting room window, transfixed by the storm. She couldn’t help but think of New York City and the rainy night that had changed everything. Was it strange that despite all the horror and suffering that city had caused her, she still somehow missed it?

“Do you like the rain?”

She turned to find Ginny standing next to her, smiling easily.

Shyly, she nodded.

“Me, too.”

Silence fell, but it was a warm, companionable one, which surprised her. Ever since that night in the woods and the appearance of the evil mark that had blighted so much of her life, Sadie had struggled to keep the memories and nightmares at bay. It scared her. What if these kind people somehow saw the darkness that resided in her and were repulsed? She wrapped her arms around herself, the fingers of her right hand rubbing self-consciously at her left shoulder and the faint marks she could feel even through the fabric of her clothes. It was safer to stay in the background, cling to the edges. She stopped trying to help the others understand her signs and only rarely used her notebook, so Ginny seeking her out for company was a shock.

“Want to see something cool?” Ginny spoke again, her eyes sparkling with invitation. She held out an old, patched sweater.

Sadie hesitated, but the eagerness of the younger girl broke through the sorrow and fear, calling to her. Finally, she nodded and took the sweater. Ginny waited long enough for her to put it on and then grabbed her hand.

“C’mon,” she said, pulling her out of the front door and into the rain.

They raced across the garden, Ginny splashing right through puddles as large as small lakes as she tugged Sadie toward the woods. Almost instantly, they were drenched to the skin but the younger girl simply let out a delighted, almost giddy laugh of joy and ran faster. 

Something forgotten stirred inside of Sadie and awoke – something wild and free – and she pushed her legs to keep up with their mad pace even though they trembled from the effort. As the wind dashed the rain against her skin and whipped her skirt and hair about, she felt a strange, liberating excitement she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Ginny slowed as they entered the trees, picking her way with more care, but she never let go of Sadie’s hand. The quivering branches now protected them from most of the steady rain. Instead, large drops of collected water plopped to the forest floor in random patterns. Obedient and very curious, Sadie followed the twisting path Ginny led her on, gazing around with silent wonder.

They crossed a small creek, balancing carefully on a slippery log, and then suddenly Ginny released her hand and disappeared, ducking through a dark opening Sadie never would have noticed on her own. 

“C’mon in, Sadie.”

Sadie dropped to her knees and crawled through, emerging into a small, dry space just as Ginny produced her wand and used it to light a lantern that hung from the low ceiling. It cast a warm, mysterious glow. Sadie let her eyes roam the little room – for that’s what it was, she realized – in amazement.

The branches and trunks of several old, gnarled trees naturally formed a sort of circular enclosure. Ginny had augmented it with bits of board and old pieces of canvas to create a perfect hideaway, totally invisible from the outside unless you knew it was there. It wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, but the walls spread out, leaving plenty of room for two people. An old, meticulously mended rug covered the dirt floor, and stacked neatly against one side was a faded quilt and several pillows. The largest tree trunk in the tiny room’s circumference was hollow and inside it Sadie could see a few chipped teacups and saucers, a well-loved rag doll, and a stack of much-thumbed books. Pictures of various sizes were tacked up around the walls.

“I discovered this place when I was seven,” Ginny said with a grin, scooting over to the hollow tree and reaching inside. “I added stuff to it every summer and even stole Fred’s wand when I was ten so I could cast a water-proofing spell.” She pulled a tin box Sadie hadn’t noticed out of the tree and opened it, tossing something at her. A biscuit, Sadie realized as she caught it in surprise while Ginny continued talking. “Don’t worry, the tin is charmed to keep food fresh. Anyway, no one but me knows about this spot. Well, and you now. I come here whenever the boys are driving me spare and I’m ready to kill a few of them.”

Sadie smiled, her first genuine, happy smile in days, and nibbled on her biscuit slowly while Ginny devoured hers in three bites. As she ate, she let her eyes wander again, studying the pictures the younger girl had put up.

“That’s the Weird Sisters,” Ginny explained, following her gaze. “They’re the best band ever, but I can’t get Mum and Dad to let me go to one of their concerts.” She rolled her eyes, before pointing to the next one. “That’s my Grandpa Weasley. He died when I was only five, but I remember he used to bring me licorice wands and we’d play marbles in the dirt. Mum used to get so mad at both of us when we’d come in all filthy, and he’d just wink at me and smile.”

A grandpa. Sadie had never had a grandpa, or a grandparent of any kind. Just as she had as a child, she stared at the old, wrinkled face in the photo, wondering what it would be like to have someone who came to visit with pockets full of sweets. She remembered faded photos carefully labeled so she knew who they were, but the people in them had all died before she was born.

And then another thought came to her. Ages ago, when she’d been that normal little girl and had pulled her parents’ photo album off the shelf to spend hours looking at those pictures, studying the faces of relatives she’d heard about but never met, the pictures had moved! It was only a small book, with few images, but it was always kept carefully hidden from the wandering, Muggle eyes of their neighbors, because of those magical, moving pictures. 

So, why were Ginny’s photos still?

*Why don’t they move?* she signed without thinking, then quickly pulled her hands back, ducking her head self-consciously.

“No, wait,” Ginny said excitedly, turning around to face her. “Can you do it again, a little slower? I want to try.”

Shyly, Sadie signed the sentence again, much slower.

“You’re asking something about my pictures…” Ginny guessed.

Sadie nodded. 

“Why I hung them up?”

Sadie shook her head.

“Why they…why they…” Ginny narrowed her eyes in confusion, so Sadie gave up on correct signs and resorted to pantomime. She moved her arms and legs and then pointed at the images.

“Oh! You want to know why they don’t move!” Ginny exclaimed with understanding.

Sadie grinned and nodded.

“I asked Bill to put a charm on them before I brought them out here. Just in case this place was ever discovered. You know, by a Muggle or someone.”

*That’s smart,* Sadie told her, moving her hands slowly.

“Thanks!” Ginny answered.

Sadie beamed. She’d been understood! Was this what friendship felt like? Because if it was, she liked it. Still smiling, she pointed to the last picture tacked to a branch.

“That’s last year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team. We _finally_ won the House Cup. Fred and George play on the team, see?” she said proudly, pointing out her brothers who were hardly difficult to miss. “So does Harry. I hope I get to play on the team someday.”

Something caught Sadie’s eye and she leaned forward, studying the picture closer in the flickering light of the lantern. Floating around her cousin’s head, someone had drawn three tiny hearts in red ink.

Tilting her head to one side, she gave Ginny a questioning grin as she used both hands to trace a heart shape in the air.

“Oh, Merlin,” Ginny muttered, a deep blush shooting up her cheeks as she snatched the picture off the branch and shoved it far into the hollow tree.

A laugh bubbled up inside of Sadie at the sight of the younger girl’s embarrassed face. *You like…my cousin?* she signed, realizing she didn’t yet have a sign for Harry’s name, or anyone else’s for that matter.

“It’s just a stupid crush, okay!” Ginny muttered, still bright red. “Please don’t tell Harry!”

Laughing silently, Sadie nodded. Then she took pity on her new friend and changed the subject. Gesturing to the hidden room, she gave Ginny a thumbs up in approval.

“Told you it was cool. And you can come here whenever you want. Just promise not to tell anyone else about it.”

Moved by the fact that Ginny would share something so special and personal with her, Sadie nodded solemnly as she crossed her heart with one finger.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Sadie drew her legs up into her arms and rested her chin on the tops of her knees, listening to the patter of rain on the branches above them, the peaceful stillness of the forest in a storm. She’d always been drawn to water. Ever since she could remember, she’d loved the wild beauty of a storm. It seemed to her nature’s way of expressing fierce, strong emotions. As she got older, she’d learned firsthand about the harsher side of nature, the way cold and damp could seep into her very bones, wrap icy fingers around her skin that refused to let go. But even when she’d been forced to endure the cruelest of weather without shelter or warmth, she’d somehow held onto her ability to see the beauty there as well.

“Wanna go puddle jumping?” Ginny blurted out of the blue. “There’s one out behind Dad’s shed that’s almost knee-deep in storms like this.”

Sadie wasn’t sure normal sixteen-year-old girls were supposed to go puddle jumping, but she suddenly realized she didn’t care. The horrific images and memories that had been dogging her for days had been pushed back to the edges of her mind again because of Ginny’s eager friendship. She didn’t want it to end. 

Smiling, she nodded. 

Ginny put out the light and the two girls scrambled from the shelter of the little room back out into the storm.

“Merciful heavens!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed an hour later as two muddy, bedraggled, drenched girls tried unsuccessfully to sneak through the kitchen and up the back stairs. Sadie froze as the plump woman planted her hands on her hips and skewered them both with a pointed glare. “What on earth have you girls been up to?”

“Playing in the rain,” Ginny answered honestly with a shrug of her shoulders as she started up the stairs again. Sadie hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do, before following her new friend.

“Change your clothes!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice hounded after them. “So you don’t catch your death! And don’t drip all over my clean floors!”

“Okay, Mum!” Ginny hollered back, pausing as she rounded the next landing to roll her eyes. “Mum worries too much,” she whispered. “And Fred and George will have already ruined her clean floors.”

Sadie just smiled and continued to follow the younger girl, but inside she was glowing. Today, she’d made a friend. She’d been trusted with a secret. She’d twirled and danced in the rain. She’d been worried over by a mother.

And for several wonderful hours, she’d felt normal and whole – not broken. As if she belonged.

*****

“So, when are you gonna tell me what’s eating at you?”

Fred sighed as he heard George come up behind him, but he didn’t turn around. Instead he pretended to focus on the cauldron of bubbling, sticky, red goop he was stirring.

Red candy for their latest sweet…

Red like the cherries of its flavor…

Red like the blood that pooled on the floor as a little girl watched her family die…

 _Okay, poor diversion choice_ , he chided himself, forcing his thoughts off that path.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled to George as he gave the liquid a rather vicious few turns with the metal spoon.

“Yep. And Percy’s posing nude for _Magical Exposure_ next month,” George replied with a frown as he sat down on one of the old, wooden crates lying around.

They were in their “laboratory,” which was actually the long abandoned woodshed they’d commandeered. No one ever came out there, except for maybe Ginny, and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. It worked great for some of their projects that were too risky to try and keep secret in their room.

“I’d pay to see that,” said Fred, pausing his stirring thoughtfully.

“Wouldn’t we all? But that’s not the point is it? The point is you’re lying through your teeth. So, spill. What’s wrong with you?”

What _was_ wrong with him? How could he explain to George when he wasn’t even sure himself? All he knew was that two nights ago while holding onto a panicking Sadie to keep her from bolting again, she’d experienced some kind of awful memory. And then suddenly, without warning, he was seeing it as well. Horrible, evil images that he had no right to even know about burned into his brain. 

What kind of magic could do that: share a memory between two people? Sadie didn’t even have a wand yet! 

But the alarming question of how it had happened wasn’t what was bothering him the most. Ever since Ginny’s terrible experience with that soul-sucking diary, he'd given up on being surprised by weird mind magic. No, what really knocked him off kilter was not the _how_ , but the _what_. 

The images had been brief but brutal, raw…sickening.

He didn't usually take life too seriously, but even he knew there were things that demanded to be, and this was bloody-well one of them! The nightmarish visions kept haunting him over and over, filling his mind with gruesome images and questions without answers. 

How could someone do that to a little girl? 

How had she survived it? 

Did others – the professors, his parents, people he trusted – know what she’d been through?

Or were these secrets she alone kept, suffering in silence?

They certainly weren’t memories she was out there sharing with the world. He had no doubt he wasn't supposed to have seen them. He glanced over at his brother, who'd taken over the stirring when he'd stopped. If he wasn't meant to know, neither was George. 

He never lied to his brother and they never kept secrets between them.

What was he supposed to say? 

“Okay, so the fact that you just for zoned out on me for five whole minutes after avoiding my question says you are absolutely hiding something – something huge I’m guessing,” George broke into his depressing thoughts, his voice worried. “Fred, what in Merlin’s name is wrong?”

Fred signed and sat down on another old crate. “Just drop it George.”

“No way! Something’s causing you pain and that is not okay,” said George vehemently, deadly serious for once in his life.

“I’m fine!” Fred tried again, knowing it wouldn’t work but without any other options.

“I could beat it out of you.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “You say I’m in pain, so your solution to it is to cause me _more_ pain?”

George shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“You’re a git,” muttered Fred, launching one of the spell books piled around at his brother’s head, who ducked it easily. 

“Takes one to know one.”

Suddenly, the tension was broken with that childish taunt and they both collapsed in laughter. Still, when Fred finally composed himself a few moments later, he realized George was gazing at him expectantly.

“George,” he sighed, “I can’t. It’s not my secret to tell,” he finally admitted.

George studied him intently for a moment. Between them, the red goop bubbled and popped, forgotten. 

“So, this isn’t something about you?”

“No,” Fred assured him. “It’s given me a lot to think about, but I really am fine. I swear – on Merlin’s left ventricle.”

Again, George was silent, weighing his words. “Okay,” he said at last, resuming the neglected stirring. The red potion had now turned thick like sludge; at this rate, they would have to throw this whole batch out and start over.

“Okay? That’s it? You’re just gonna let it drop?” asked Fred, astonished. He was surprised, and that was beyond strange. He hadn’t been surprised by anything George had done since they were two years old and his twin had been looped up on anti-sneezing potions. Of course, this was the first time in the history of their lives that he had purposefully kept a secret from George so there wasn’t exactly a precedence to gage things by.

“You said you were okay. I trust you,” replied George simply.

And just like that, they were right again and Fred felt the huge weight he’d been carrying lighten a little. It wasn’t gone completely – the atrocious, stolen memory still haunted him – but the fact George understood relieved a burden he hadn’t even known was there.

Just then, the spoon George was using to try and stir their invention snapped in half, the potion a solid mass inside the cauldron. His twin threw the top half of the utensil down the ground.

“So, failure?” asked Fred with a grin and a shrug.

“Failure,” George echoed, dousing the fire with his wand.

“C’mon. Let’s go raid the kitchen. Mum said she was making biscuits today.”

“Love the way you think, brother of mine.”

They’d come back tomorrow and clean up the mess before trying again. Forcing memories that weren’t his to stay at bay, Fred lead the way from their “workshop” and out into the pouring rain.

**Author’s Note:**

I had a hard time deciding how to write Sadie’s signs. ASL is recognized as a language in its own right, so it has different rules for grammar and syntax. When written out literally in English, it can come across as stunted and jerky, even though it is smooth and beautiful if you are watching it. I didn’t want Sadie to sound that way when people read her, so I chose to write her “words” as they would be said if someone was translating for her.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

“George, your elbow is in my face! I don’t have room to eat my food!”

“My elbow was there before your face or your food, so why don’t you _move_ them both,” George told his sister calmly, not bothering to look up from the mashed turnips he was shoveling into his mouth.

“ARGH!” Ginny seethed in frustration before she grabbed her plate and moved off in a huff, squeezing in between Bill and Hermione instead. A few years ago she would have tattled to their mum, but she’d grown considerably more devious since then. George knew she’d be plotting some form of elaborate revenge. That was okay with him; it kept him on his toes _and_ he’d just scored more eating space.

The kitchen table in the Burrow was currently groaning under the strain of a supper spread for twelve, the chaos just barely on the controlled side. But the rain that continued to fall had kept them from eating outside as they had been doing since the World Cup, so they’d been forced to make do.

With Ginny gone, George had room to slide to the right a little. On his other side, Sadie looked up as he shifted away, meeting his gaze with a timid smile. 

“Hey, nice smile!” he whispered, grinning back at her. Ever since her massive panic attack in the forest, the girl had pulled even farther inside her shell of silence. “I was starting to think you had something against them.”

The smile widened and she ducked her head, looking at her plate as color crept up her neck. George followed her gaze and gave a mock gasp. A lone roll sat in the middle of the crockery.

“Sadie, at meals like this you can’t wait for the food to come to you or you’ll starve! You have to yell for it!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Her smile faded and she hung her head, squeezing her hands together self-consciously.

Mentally, George cursed himself, and then threw in some really good curses aimed at the universe in general. Life was so bloody unfair sometimes. It wasn’t fair that his dad worked his tail off for a Ministry that couldn’t see fit to pay him a decent wage so he could hold his head up with pride. It wasn’t fair that Harry lost his parents before he barely even knew them and had to grow up with horrid relatives instead. And it certainly wasn’t fair that a sixteen-year-old girl couldn’t holler and shove her way to the food at the dinner table like the rest of them. 

She’d only been with them a few days and she’d already managed to get lost in the noise and chaos, in a place where they were all supposed to be looking out for her. How was she going to survive an entire school full of people who couldn’t understand a word she said? 

“I’m sorry, Sadie,” he said quietly, setting his fork down and giving her his full attention. “I say stupid things a lot. It’s kind of a talent. Fred has it, too. In fact, Fred’s even better at it than me, so I usually just blame all the idiotic things on him as it saves time. Now, since you can’t yell over this pack of wild animals to get to the food, I’ll do it for you.” Without waiting for her answer, he turned and leaned down the table. “Yo, Charlie! Stop hogging the roast and send it this way! A person could starve down here!”

Five minutes later, Sadie’s plate was heaped full of his mother’s delicious food and the hesitant smile had returned to her lips from the steady stream of one-sided jokes he was cracking. He was just about to regale her with the punchline to “A goblin, a centaur, and a vampire walked into a bar…” when the light of inspiration suddenly went off in his head. He stopped mid-sentence, allowing his mind to race through all the brilliant possibilities until he noticed Sadie was staring at him strangely.

“Sorry, gotta run,” he muttered, shoving his plate away and standing up. He quickly circled the table to where Fred sat between Ron and Percy.

“Fred, let’s go.”

“Not done eating,” his twin said through a mouthful of green beans. 

George reached over and snagged two rolls, shoving them into his brother’s hands and then pulling him out of his seat. “Yes, you are,” he said firmly. “C’mon. It has to do with what we talked about _before_ ,” he said pointedly. “I’ve got an idea.”

Fred caught his meaning immediately. George could see it in his eyes. They’d been that way since they were born, able to speak without needing words; it was just something they never questioned. 

“All right, let’s go,” echoed Fred eagerly, but not before he grabbed two more hot rolls from the table.

“Pig,” muttered George as he started up the stairs to their room.

“I prefer ‘strapping lad’ thank you very much.”

“Oh, is that what the girls call it these days? Or maybe just Angelina…?”

*****

“Dad?”

“Can we ask you something?”

Arthur looked up from the paper he was reading at the kitchen table to find his twin sons standing beside him.

“Sure. What?” he responded.

“We need to go to Diagon Alley.”

“To get some…”

“Things.”

Arthur bit back a smile. It was no stretch of the imagination to guess what those _things_ would be used for. Molly could try her hardest to stop their pranks, but he knew Fred and George would never work for the Ministry. The boys oozed creativity and mischief; you couldn’t corral that behind a desk. Someday, she’d just have to accept the inevitable.

“So, can we go?”

“Tomorrow?”

He folded the paper up, considering their request. They were sixteen, after all, almost of age. Most sixteen-year-olds had the run of the Alley on their own. But, most sixteen-year-olds couldn’t reduce it to rubble with a bubble-gum wrapper and a roll of spell-o tape if they wanted to. Still, if he said no, they’d most likely just go anyway, probably doing something illegal. At least this way they were asking.

“I suppose that’s all right,” he said, deciding to use the impromptu trip as a way to kill two birds with one stone. “But only if you’re willing to bring Sadie with you and let me meet you there on my lunch hour. I need to take her to get a wand, but it’s been so crazy at work still trying to deal with everything from the World Cup that I haven’t been able to get away, and your mother’s been too swamped here to take her. Will that work?”

“Sure, Dad!” they said in unison before high-fiving each other and running out, their eyes glinting.

Yes, they were up to something. No doubt about it. No sense in worrying about it, though. Arthur was sure he’d find out soon enough what it was, and right now he needed to go talk with Sadie. He stashed the newspaper in the discard pile by the cooker and then went in search of his goddaughter. 

*****

Light as trembling feathers, her fingers ghosted here and there, touching everything and leaving little trails through the dust. Behind her glasses, Sadie’s eyes were wide in the dim light of the cluttered shed, portals to the many memories dancing through her head. Piles of metal, twists of cords, ratty old cardboard boxes full of nameless treasures… Random rubbish really but it tugged so strongly at the hidden places of her mind.

_“Whatcha fixing, Daddy?” she asked, leaning up against her daddy’s legs as he sat at his workbench in the end of their big, old barn. The cool air of the building was a welcome relief from the heat of the summer sun and her bare toes curled pleasantly against the chilly, straw-covered stones of the floor._

_“It’s a beautiful Muggle contraption, Sadie-Bird!” he said with excitement, patting her head and leaving behind greasy streaks in her hair that made her smile. “It’s called a_ Snow Breather _.”_

_Her brown eyes grew huge and she let out an appreciative, “Oooooh.” A Snow Breather sounded so exciting! Her daddy always made the most amazing things. Sometimes they were crooked, or a little oddly shaped and wobbly. They didn’t always do exactly what they were supposed to, but to Sadie, they were always wonderful._

_“Will it breathe out snow, even now in the summer time? Can we build a fort and have a snowball fight?” she tugged on his arm, practically dancing in anticipation._

_Her daddy laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Not exactly. See, when it’s winter, this will suck the snow away and clear the yard and drive. Then I can get the tractors out to feed the stock more easily, and I won’t have to shovel! Aren’t Muggles incredibly smart?”_

_Sadie frowned in puzzlement. “But, Daddy, you always just wait until Mummy is asleep and then cheat and use magic on the snow anyway.” She loved sneaking out at night when the snow was glistening in the moonlight. The world would be crisp and still while she watched her daddy blast away the snow from the walks and the drive with his wand._

_“Hey, shh, Sadie-Bird. That’s our little secret, remember?”_

_Sadie giggled. “I won’t tell Mummy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Bet she already knows, though. Don’t you know mums know_ everything _?”_

The memory dissolved, flitting away in broken pieces to hide once more in the corners of her mind, but it left behind a smile etched lightly on her lips. Above her, rain still pounded against the shingles of the roof, the storm showing no signs of slowing even after twenty-four hours, but the shed was warm and dry, it’s musty odor familiar and comforting. A small table was crammed against one side, a short stack of books arranged neatly in the center. 

With curious hands, Sadie lifted the top one, her eyes alight as she took in the image and title on the cover: _A Pictorial History of Tractors in Great Britain_. Soon, she was seated cross-legged on the dusty floor, book spread on her lap as she lost herself in the pictures and the memories of the past.

“Your dad gave me that book,” a quiet voice said after a while, drawing Sadie’s attention up from the well-worn pages to the gentle eyes of Mr. Weasley. He was leaning against a shelf across the room, and his moist eyes and lost-in-the-past expression made Sadie wonder how long he’d been there. “On the train ride home at the end of my first year,” he finished his thought before closing the distance between them. To Sadie’s surprise, he ignored the workbench and instead lowered himself to the floor so he was sitting beside her.

“This one was always my favorite,” he said, reaching over and turning a few pages forward. The image of a fire-engine-red Muggle tractor filled the paper. _The Nuffield Universal_ the label proudly declared.   
“Your dad loved his Muggle farm equipment.”

Sadie smiled because it was so true. Her dad had loved everything about their Vermont farm. Every animal had a name, every building or field was a part of his soul, and every tractor or piece of equipment was his “favorite.” Even the simple things had filled him with child-like glee, such as answering the telephone they kept to appear more like their Muggle neighbors.

“He used to go on and on about it, when we were kids, how he wanted to have a farm and grow things in the dirt and drive around on big machines. His parents had his future planned out in a centuries-old family business, but he hated the idea. So he told me all his wild plans. I didn’t mind because…well, as you can see I’m a bit over-fond of Muggle items myself,” he laughed a little, gesturing to the collection of junk around them. “But I think most of the school thought he was crazy…” 

He trailed off, growing quiet, and Sadie gazed up at him thoughtfully. She’d never had anyone to share memories with – or mourn with – before.

“He got it, didn’t he?” Mr. Weasley asked her suddenly, his voice thick. “The farm he always wanted, the one he dreamed of? He was happy?”

Sadie nodded vigorously, the image of her content, smiling parents from her memory both comforting and painful. They had been very happy, even though there had always been something – a hidden wound – tucked away in the light of their eyes or echo of their laughs.

“Good,” said Mr. Weasley, sniffing once and nodding in return as he blinked heavily for a moment before changing the topic. “So, Molly tells me you and Ginny had quite the day? Something about rain and mud and puddles?”

Sadie grinned again, ducking her head as she remembered the rush of strong emotions and… _glee_ that had filled her as they danced in the storm. “Did you try the puddle behind this shed? In my opinion, it’s always been the best one.”

Shyly, Sadie nodded. She decided she liked Mr. Weasley, this man who had known her parents and laughed with her father. The man whom Artie had been named after.

“Excellent,” he said. “Well, are you up for another adventure tomorrow?”

 _Another adventure_? Hadn’t everything that had happened to her since that night in the alley been one big adventure? Sadie wrinkled her eyes up in puzzlement.

“It’s time to get you a wand, Sadie. School will be starting in a few days and you can’t go without one.”

At his words, the warmth of the shed vanished as fear shot through her like an icy blast to the heart. Beside her, Mr. Weasley continued talking, unaware of her terror as he muttered something about the twins taking her to meet up with him at lunchtime, but she wasn’t listening. Gripping the edges of the forgotten book till her fingers were white, she stared straight ahead as different words rattled through her head instead like unwelcome, vengeful ghosts whose sharp fingers clutched at her with remembered pain.

_“Diffendo!”_

_“Stupify!”_

_“Incarcerous!”_

_“Morsmordre!"_

_“Aduro Flagello!”_

_“Crucio!”_

_“Crucio!”_

_“CRUCI –!”_

“Sadie? Sadie, are you okay?”

Sadie blinked, shaking her head rapidly to clear the imagined sound of the curses that still rang in her ears, before turning to face a worried-looking Mr. Weasley.

*I’m fine,* she signed while nodding quickly. Mr. Weasley didn’t look convinced, but she climbed to her feet, preventing him from asking any more questions. Once he was standing again as well, she carefully held the book about tractors out to him.

“Why don’t you keep it,” he said with a sad, gentle smile. “I already have it memorized and…well…you don’t have anything of your dad’s, do you?”

Grateful, Sadie clutched the book to herself. *Thank you,* she signed, and then she was unable to stop from turning and fleeing back into the house and up the stairs to her borrowed room, thoughts of wands and evil, torturous words nipping at her heals.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

“I just don’t see why you need to leave so early,” said Mrs. Weasley, shaking her head as she set the heaps of dirty laundry around her to sorting themselves by color. She stepped away slightly, backing to the kitchen stairs. “Ron, Harry!” she hollered up them, “if you boys don’t get your things down here right now they aren’t going to get washed!”

“Because it’s Diagon Alley, Mum!” said one of the twins earnestly as if the conversation had never been interrupted. It was Fred. Mrs. Weasley had called the one in the green shirt “Fred” just moments ago, Sadie was sure of it.

“And Sadie’s never seen it before!” added George, throwing a pair of Bill’s trousers in the “dark” pile just to show how helpful he could be.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a perfect view of the little scullery off to the side, Sadie watched the scene playing out around her with a sort of detached curiosity. As she listened to the conversation, she absently traced the many scars in the surface of the worn table with her fingers. She hadn’t slept well, the uncertainty and fear of today’s trip stirring up barely buried memories into nightmares. Those visions of the night had left phantom echoes that were still plaguing her in the light of day.

“I don’t know, boys,” hedged Mrs. Weasley, her face concerned. “Two hours is an awfully long time to be there on your own, and it’s still pouring…”

“Hey, mate –” Fred suddenly turned to Harry who was just coming down the stairs with Ron, heaps of dirty clothes filling both their arms. “Help us out here. Diagon Alley, your first time…didn’t you want to look at everything?”

“Absolutely,” said Harry emphatically. He met Sadie’s eyes from across the room and gave her a smile. Shyly, she smiled back, feeling a little warmer inside with the reminder that she had family again.

“See, Mum!” cried George pointedly.

“All right, fine. But you both have to promise me no funny business!” said Mrs. Weasley, skewering her sons with a shrewd glance. 

“We solemnly swear we will be very good,” the two chimed in unison. Harry suddenly choked on a snort of laughter, covering his mouth and trying to look innocent, which for some reason that Sadie couldn’t figure out caused George to throw him a pointed glare. 

Mrs. Weasley apparently didn’t buy her sons’ sincerity either; she stared at them with her eyes narrowed and suspicious for so long that even Sadie started to squirm. 

“Do you have any Wizard Wheezey things on you?” she finally asked, hands planted on her hips.

“No,” they said instantly, shaking their heads as they helpfully turned out their own pockets this time. George even went so far as to unroll the cuffs of his pants without prodding.

“How could we?” said George innocently. “You destroyed them all, remember?”

Mrs. Weasley didn’t reply to that for another uncomfortably long moment, glaring at them as if trying to find a catch or clause in what they’d just said. Finally, she seemed to admit that she couldn’t fault their logic and went on.

“Did you bring me all your dirty laundry? I will not have a repeat of last year! Going until Halloween without washing anything!”

“Yes, Mum,” they answered smartly. 

Even though she was still sitting at the table in the other room, Sadie found herself drawn completely into what was happening, her nervous fingers stilling and a smile creeping across her face as she watched the twins’ antics. Fred sent her a conspiratorial wink, but unfortunately it also attracted his mother’s attention. She zoned in on him.

“That shirt. I don’t remember washing it. When was the last time this shirt was washed, Fred Weasley?”

“March twelfth,” Fred answered without hesitation. 

“You are not leaving this house until that shirt is in a pile to be washed,” his mother said firmly, hands planted on the flowered apron that covered her hips.

“Okay,” said Fred coolly. Immediately, he began unbuttoning. Sensing his intention, George jumped right in, humming a catchy tune. Fred grinned in approval and threw himself into the show, undoing each button slowly and deliberately before peeling the shirt off with a flourish. By the time he was finished, Ron and Harry were leaning against the wall, clutching their sides as they fought sporadic snorts of laughter. Even Mrs. Weasley seemed to be holding back a grin as she rolled her eyes.

Laughing silently, Sadie found the whole thing very amusing and, strangely enough, a bit comforting – to be surrounded by a real family once more – a completely normal (if not slightly insane) family. Every moment here with them seemed to deal another blow to the demons of her past that tried daily to consume her, to eat her alive from the inside. What surprised her most, however, was the strange rush of color she felt flood her cheeks at the sight of Fred standing there starkers from the waist up as he tossed his shirt theatrically onto the correct pile. She’d grown up with seven brothers; it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a bare chest or two before. Why did she feel the need to blush this time?

“So, can we go now, Mum?” asked Fred, an utterly innocent grin plastered on his face as he stood there, arms crossed against his thin chest.

“A deal is a deal,” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes twinkling as she shook her head. “Though might I suggest putting on another shirt first? We don’t want _all_ the witches falling into fainting fits over your manly physique.”

That was too much for Ron and Harry who finally dissolved into helpless peals of laughter on the floor.

“Laugh it up, boys. I know you’re just jealous. Besides, Sadie thinks I’m tan and manly, don’t you?”

Sadie jumped as the unexpected question caught her completely off guard and she froze. 

“Me – manly and tan, right?” Fred emphasized again, sticking his chest out when she didn’t answer.

Her first reaction was to blush and look away, saying nothing in the face of all the eyes staring at her, but for a reason Sadie couldn’t quite explain she found herself pushing that instinct aside and reaching for another, long-buried one instead. *Manly and tan?* She shook her head with a tiny, teasing smile. *More like skinny and pale.* 

“Ha!” snorted George, jabbing a triumphant finger at his twin. “I don’t know sign language, but I’m betting you just got told, dearest brother!”

“Oh, go put some clothes on, Fred, and then get out of here you three!” laughed Mrs. Weasley, making shooing motions with her arms. “I can’t get any work done with you lot in here. Just make sure you BEHAVE!”

As Sadie followed the twins out of the kitchen, she couldn’t help watching Fred’s bare back. It really wasn’t _that_ skinny and pale…

*****

Clutching her glasses tightly with one hand and clinging to Fred’s arm with the other, Sadie gritted her teeth as she was jostled and bumped like a lose marble in a shaken can. Glimpses of rooms flashed by, stirring up her stomach in a wave of nausea even though it was only seconds before she found herself tumbling out of a fireplace on her hands and knees in a puff of ash and soot. She rested there for a moment, breathing carefully with relief, until a hand appeared in front of her smudged glasses.

“Thrilling ride, isn’t it?” 

It was George. She grasped his hand and let him pull her upright, not surprised to see he was grinning.

 _Thrilling_ wasn’t the word Sadie would have chosen to describe the short trip. On the whole, she was not enamored with the forms of wizard transportation she’d encountered so far. What was wrong with a truck or a nice, stable subway train? 

Her thoughts must have shown on her face because both twins burst out laughing, Fred slapping his arms and legs as he did and sending great billows of dirt into the air.

“Ask Harry about his first experience with Floo powder sometime,” chuckled Fred. “And don’t worry, it gets better.”

Unconvinced, Sadie swatted at the ash covering the cloak Ginny had loaned her, hating that the wild trip had left it dirty. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about this particular mode of transportation very often; her inability to speak prevented her from using the Floo on her own. 

“The Alley must be super busy today if the Floo is spitting us out here in the Menagerie,” mused a still laughing George and for the first time Sadie noticed her surroundings. 

The room was warm with a musty scent that reminded her of a barn. And that made perfect sense because as she glanced around she could see that it was filled to the roof with any kind of small animal she could imagine. Owls hooted and flapped their wings in cages overhead, ravens cawed, and cats slept on every surface, ignoring people with practiced ease.

It was chaotic – and wonderful!

The twins urged her out of the way as the sputtering of the fireplace behind them announced the imminent arrival of more people, but once unfrozen, Sadie needed no encouragement to keep moving. Her fear of wands forgotten for the moment, she roamed the crowded shop, taking it all in and pausing here and there to scratch the head of a lazy cat lounging on a shelf or counter.

“You like animals don’t you?” Fred asked her after a while, and his face was kind, lacking any of the usual teasing Sadie had come to associate with the twins.

She nodded solemnly, knowing it was true. Animals didn’t need words to understand her; she had always felt they could look into her eyes and know her soul. They gave love and affection unconditionally, no matter what, and they had been one of the few things there to offer comfort during the darkest parts of her life.

“We’ve never had a pet,” said George from her other side.

“Didn’t need to –”

“Had each other –”

“But I suppose they are kind of cute –” Fred leaned over and squinted skeptically at a hedgehog sort of animal that promptly squeaked in alarm and curled up in a ball.

“– in a weird, fuzzy, smelly sort of way,” finished George, poking experimentally at a limp lizard that didn’t even open an eye.

“You know, when you put it like that, I guess we _do_ have a pet.” Fred straightened up and grinned. “We have Ron.”

“True, Fred. So true.”

Sadie shook her head and smiled. Stopping in front of a tangle of half-grown kittens, she scooped up a gray tabby and pulled it into her arms, scratching under its chin and along its tummy. The cat closed its eyes in ecstasy, purring and stretching out.

“So that’s how it’s done,” grinned George. “Fred, we are in the presence of an expert.”

Each of the twins took a minute petting the happy kitten before Sadie reluctantly put it back with its siblings.

“Ready?” asked Fred.

“The whole Alley still awaits you, after all,” added George, gesturing grandly toward the store’s exit.

She nodded, feeling the nerves crash back into her as they shouldered their way through the crowded shop and out the door. 

Outside, the rain continued its downpour. A cold fog rolled and swelled through the cobbled street, obscuring the crooked, twisted buildings and bundled people rushing by. For just a moment as she pulled her hood up around her own face, Sadie was transported to a different time and place. In her mind, the wizarding shops stretched and grew, becoming the heights of a concrete maze. She heard again the honk of horns and mad rush of New York City traffic mingled with the cries of vendors and voices of ordinary people in a dozen different languages. It stirred a strange sense of homesickness that she hadn’t expected. How could she miss a place that had often been nothing but miserable?

“Come on,” said Fred, jerking her out of her thoughts as he grabbed her hand. “Time’s wasting!”

*****

They left the Menagerie and headed down the Alley, stopping first to wander through Quality Quidditch Supplies and several other used broomstick stores. Sadie gazed dutifully at every find they pointed out, but to Fred the little smile on her face seemed rather fixed. Maybe Quidditch just wasn’t her cup of tea, or maybe the brooms and equipment simply brought back the emotions of that awful night at the World Cup. Red images of fear and death flashed through his own brain unannounced as he remembered and, repressing a shudder, he dragged George away from a used Firebolt with only five-hundred miles on it. Best to move on to shops that hopefully triggered safer memories.

As they passed by, the frilly robes and ridiculous hats in the widows at Madam Malkin’s and Twilfitt and Tatting's drew Sadie’s interest next. She paused to study them, her eyes wrinkled in puzzlement. To Fred’s utter relief, though, she shook her head no when asked if she wanted to enter. Their new friend seemed awed and a little intimidated by wizarding fashion; she definitely wasn’t ready to embrace it. That was fine by him. Imagine the fallout if someone like Lee happened by while George and he were skulking in the corner of one of those shops, sandwiched between the lacy, mauve dressrobes and moonbeam, silk stilettos? The shame would be complete and reputation-ending; they’d have to switch schools to escape it – a wizarding school somewhere in the outer reaches of the Amazon no doubt. 

The day was too cold for ice cream, and the sheer number of bodies crammed into the tea shop made Sadie turn pale. It took a lot of cajoling, but they did persuade her to give Sugarplum's Sweets Shop a try. It was a good choice. They emerged fifteen minutes later with bulging pockets, Sadie’s faltering smile firmly back in place, and Fred silently praising Bill and his timely loan of cash that morning. 

Which brought them to where they were now, standing in the entrance to Flourish and Blotts as Sadie’s eyes grew round with amazement at the stacks and stacks of books. Fred grinned as he watched Sadie frozen in the doorway, her face alight with pure wonder and delight for the first time that day.

“Great,” muttered George, rolling his eyes. “She’s gonna pull a Granger on us, Fred! Look at her!”

“Yep…” replied Fred, shaking his head. “I reckon we’ve got another one,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Sadie gave no response or sign that she even heard them, still looking this way and that with open awe.

“Go on,” Fred urged after a moment, shoving her gently forward. “Knock yourself out looking at whatever you want.”

“We have to find something anyway,” added George.

“Meet you back here in half an hour?” finished Fred. 

She nodded and then moved off through the stacks, looking completely at ease and sure of herself for the first time all day.

“If she starts leaving me _Helpful Homework Hints and Schedules_ in my textbooks like someone else we don’t mention I just might go spare…” mumbled George, still looking doubtfully at Sadie’s back.

“You-Know-Who leaves you homework hints? Blimey, I feel robbed. Do you think he’d be willing to branch out? Merlin knows I could use the help with Potions.”

George smacked him on the shoulder but didn’t dignify that particular comeback with a response.

“Besides, don’t you know Hermione just wants us to live up to our full potential?” Fred couldn’t stop the desire to have the last word. “Now, come on, we actually have work to do today. This was your idea after all.”

They weren’t entirely sure what they were looking for, just going off of a vague hunch and the trust that their guts would lead them to the right place. They usually did. Fred couldn’t quite explain how that happened, but so far those instincts had never failed them. So, acting on that trust, Fred led the way through the winding towers to the dark, musty corner at the back of the shop. Here were kept the very oldest of books, ancient tomes that had been collecting dust as they sat unsold on the shelves for centuries.

“You reckon they even remember these old things are still on their inventory?” asked George as he poked gingerly at a leather bound volume that appeared ready to return to dust itself at the slightest movement.

“I reckon they remember well enough to make us pay for them, if we find what we need. Look, you start on that end and I’ll work toward you from over here.”

Half an hour later they stood in the queue for the till, several tattered books clutched in their hands. For the first time, Fred was grateful for the crowds of shoppers – mostly Hogwarts students and their families rushing to make last minute purchases. On a normal day, the books George and he were trying to buy would probably raise enough alarm to merit a Floo home. Today, however, when they stepped up to pay, Fred kept up a jolly, running conversation distracting the owner with the latest gossip according to Auntie Muriel while George bought the books. It worked and the harried, frazzled girl working the till barely gave them a second look. 

“Step one accomplished,” George said few moments later, stuffing the books into his bag where they were out of sight and away from questioning eyes, especially those of their mother.

“Right, now to find Sadie,” replied Fred. 

That turned out to be easier said than done. 

They searched all the normal, Hermione-ish sections: Potions, History, Self-Help… They even ventured into the “Girl’s” section, at great risk to their self-respect, but with no luck. Finally, almost twenty minutes later, they rounded a corner in one of the upper reaches of the shop and found her sitting on the floor of the isle, lost to the world in the pages of a book.

Fred glanced at the sign on the shelf. “Muggle Fiction?” he questioned with a snort of disbelief.

Sadie started slightly, noticing them for the first time. George stepped forward and pulled the book from her hand, turning it around to read the title. 

“ _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes._ * Hmm, interesting. Maybe you aren’t another Granger after all.” There was palpable relief mixed with the mirth in his voice.

Sadie eyed George in open confusion as she climbed to her feet.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being a git,” said Fred, smacking his brother on the back of the head.

With an uncertain smile, Sadie took the book back from George and started to return it to a shelf. 

“Wait, don’t you want to finish it?”

A wistful look crossed her face, and he wondered if she was remembering something from the life she never spoke of. But, no sooner was it there than it was gone. As she hesitantly indicated that she’d read the tale before, Fred thought about everything she didn’t – no _couldn’t_ – say. Would she have shared more with them if she was able? Did she have secrets and feelings she longed to share but couldn’t? 

“One of your favorites, huh?” he said kindly, now more determined than ever to follow through with George’s idea.

She nodded.

“Well, that settles it then.” He pulled the hardback off the shelf again. “Everyone needs a copy of their favorite book.” Good thing they asked both Bill _and_ Charlie for loans that morning. They were burning through the Galleons in a hurry today.

Ignoring Sadie’s silent protests that eventually melted into a bashful stillness, Fred marched down the stairs to again join the jostling queue. 

Ten minutes later they finally emerged back out into the rainy street, Sadie carefully clutching her new book under her cloak to keep it dry and beaming from ear to ear.

“We still have time to hit Gamble and Japes if we hurry,” said George, his voice muffled by the water that continued to stream unbroken from heavy, grey clouds. He gestured down the cobbled road to the brightly lit sign.

“Oh yeah, we need to restock and you’ll love this store!” Fred agreed eagerly, and they both swept her along without giving her time to answer.

Gamble and Japes proved to be a huge success. The guarded, ever-wary look that had haunted Sadie since the moment she arrived at his house finally slid completely away, replaced as they wandered the well-stocked shelves with a wonderful yet totally silent laugh. George and he showed her the best of the store’s products and she loved them all. No wrinkling of her nose in disapproval or tell-tale rolling of the eyes in boredom: just excited joy. And best of all, no more slightly broken smile that never reached her eyes. Fred realized that buried behind the fear that life had forced on her was a wicked sense of humor and fun, one that had been starved for far too long. He vowed to do whatever he could to make sure Sadie’s laugh stuck around.

As Sadie touched a feather-duster, jumping back with a huge smile when it squawked suddenly and turned into a chicken, Fred shared a glace with his twin. A strange thought had been tugging at him for the last little while. A quick conversation without words told him he wasn’t alone in his thought and a mutual decision was effortlessly made.

“Come on, Sadie. Time to go. There’s one more place we want to show you before we meet Dad,” said Fred.

“Yeah, old Japes over there seems to be taking exception to you setting off all his fake cleaning products at once anyway,” George added with a laugh, nodding to the wizened old man glowering at them from behind the counter. “Not that we don’t approve, of course, but still probably best if we leave now.”

George quickly paid for their armload of stuff and then the three of them ran out into the soggy weather again, still laughing. Fred grabbed Sadie’s hand and pulled her along, splashing through puddles as they went. 

After a few minutes they came to a stop in front of an old, dilapidated building, their clothing soaked. Water dripped off the end of Fred’s nose, and Sadie’s hair was plastered across her face in wild strings. Absentmindedly, she brushed it clear of her glasses with a pale hand. 

“So, what do you think,” he asked.

She studied the abandoned site for a moment, then glanced at them quizzically.

“Number 93, Diagon Alley. We know, it’s not much to look at now, is it?” admitted George quietly.

“But someday it will be. Someday it’s gonna be smashing,” added Fred, feeling a bit solemn. This…this ramshackle dump of a building was their dream, one they’d never shared with anyone else until today. They’d noticed it last year and, after a bit of careful poking around and quietly asking the right questions to the right people, discovered it had been on the market for a very long time. It was ugly and broken and no one wanted it. 

Except for them. 

They’d learned a long time ago not to make judgments based on only what was visible to the eye. This old building had heart – they could feel it. Someday it would light up the entire Alley.

Fred was pulled out of his musing by Sadie gesturing at them and then back at the empty shop.

“Oh, no, it’s not ours,” he groused. “Not yet.”

“Might have been, if that rotter Bagman hadn’t cheated,” George added darkly.

“But we’ll figure it out. And then you’ll see. This place will be the best joke shop the world has ever known.”

“Even Mum will have to like it because it will be so grand.”

One of Sadie’s eyebrows arched skeptically.

“Hey, if you’re gonna dream, dream humongous, right?” said Fred throwing his arms wide in exaggeration. 

Warily, Sadie reached out and touched a board that was dangling crookedly. It gave a shudder and slid to the ground with a soggy thump.

“Well, it’s more of an incremental dream, though,” said George with a shrug.

“Yeah, we have steps. A plan. We’re working on it.”

A strange nervousness welled up in the pit of Fred’s stomach as he watched Sadie look at “their” shop. He didn’t know why, but he really wanted her to understand – to appreciate their dream. After a moment of pondering the decrepit building intently, she turned around and for just a moment, her face was unreadable.

Suddenly, a bright smile broke out on her face and she signed something slowly and deliberately that Fred was pretty sure boiled down to, *It’s amazing!* 

“Yep,” he said in unison with George, “it is.”

 

* _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ was written by Arthur Conan Doyle in 1892.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Sadie could literally feel the magic saturating the room as she followed Mr. Weasley into the dim, narrow shop. It caused tremors of fear to race through her, and she desperately wrapped Ginny’s cloak tightly around herself to try and hide them.

 _Run! Run!_ her mind screamed at her. She fought it, but couldn’t help dragging her feet, afraid to leave the safety of the doorway and fully enter the musty space. Terrified, she glanced around at the shelves filled with stacks and stacks of wooden boxes while Mr. Weasley approached the counter.

“Good afternoon, Arthur.” 

A little, old man with white hair and piercing eyes was suddenly there, facing them. Sadie jumped and backed up another few steps. “I could have sworn I was done with all of your brood. Let me see, we had William, Charles, Percival, those wild twins, young Ronald and plucky Ginevra, didn’t we? So, you must be here for a replacement. Which one of them has broken a wand this time? Ronald again, is it?”

Mr. Weasley laughed slightly at the description of his children and accuracy of the guesses, but shook his head. “Actually, we’re here to buy a first wand for this young lady. Mr. Ollivander, this is Sadie McLauchlin.”

“Oh!” the man breathed quietly, coming out from behind the counter and leaning closer to gaze at her over the top of his spectacles. “Oh indeed! I had begun to believe I would never see you in this shop, my dear.” His voice was soft and a little awed, mixed with great curiosity.

Sadie stared at him, unnerved that he seemed to know her! 

“Well, come here, my dear girl,” the old man said after a moment, gesturing her forward. “Let’s get you measured up.”

Sadie tried to obey, she really did, but her feet refused to move. It was the best she could do to simple not creep backwards into a corner and hide.

“Sadie is a bit…nervous,” Mr. Weasley said to Mr. Ollivander softly, giving her a sad smile. “She…well…this might be slightly difficult.”

Mr. Ollivander gazed at her for a few moments and then something seemed to change in his expression.

“Arthur,” he said quietly, “would you mind stepping out for just a few minutes so Sadie and I could talk?”

Mr. Weasley seemed hesitant, but after a glance at both of them, reluctantly nodded and retreated out the shop door. 

Sadie felt her panic explode as he left and she was alone with the old man. She gazed desperately at the door Mr. Weasley had just disappeared through, trying to quell the violent shaking that suddenly seemed to fill her.

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” 

The quiet words made her head snap back around to Mr. Ollivander.

“You can feel it, the magic in those boxes? All that contained power, just waiting to be set free. And it frightens you.”

Eyes wide, Sadie stared at him. _How could he know that?_

“Each of these boxes does contain great power,” he went on, unaware of her thoughts. “But I think what you are forgetting, young lady, is this – that power is useless without a person to wield it. A wand is just a tool, Sadie.” 

Mr. Ollivander reached into his robes and withdrew a handful of wands of various lengths and hews. Sadie breathed in sharply but didn’t move, feeling as if her feet were suddenly rooted to the floor.

“I have been crafting wands for more than half a century,” he said. “Giving them form and functionality, soul and power. I have perfected the art of combing just the right magical substance to best channel a wizard’s power, though I still don’t completely understand all the complexities of the art. And over the years I have paired hundreds of witches and wizards with their wands.” As he spoke, the old wizard toyed with the wands he still held, moving them between his hands and twisting them slowly.

“Sadly, I am forced to report that not all of those I’ve sold wands to have chosen to use them for good. Great evil can be done with wands – horrible, hurtful things.” His voice had gone softer – more kind – with that last sentence, and he gazed at her with eyes that were now full of sorrow. “I think you understand that intimately, do you not?”

Sadie cringed and hugged her arms tighter around herself, memories she didn’t want tumbling back to the forefront of her mind – curses and spells, blazing flashes of light followed by agony and pain. A tear she couldn’t hold back trickled down her cheek and she wiped it angrily away.

The wands in Mr. Ollivander’s hands disappeared back into his robes and he stepped closer to her.

“The wand always choses the wizard, Sadie McLauchlin,” he said firmly, “but remember it is the _wizard_ who choses what to do with the wand. As I said, it is just a tool. It can be used for evil but it can just as easily be used to do good – to protect and defend.”

Prodded by his words, Sadie forced herself to push past the heinous memories to more distant ones. She closed her eyes and saw her mother trimming the Christmas tree, lighting all the candles with a flick of her wand. She pictured her dad pulling out his wand to fix the leaky plumbing, laughing when his spell missed and water shot all over the kitchen. Then her older brothers were making it snow inside just to make her giggle, knowing full well they’d get in big trouble when their parents returned home.

The old man’s voice broke into her thoughts again.

“Shall we get you measured up then, and find out which wand chooses you?”

Her fears weren’t erased or completely gone, but sucking in a deep breath, Sadie nodded and stepped forward.

Before she had even finished, a tape measurer sprang out of Mr. Ollivander’s pocket and started to calculate the distance between all sorts of different body parts. She glared at it when it flipped up to measure between her nose and left ear, but it paid her no mind. Neither did the old man now. He was off wandering through the shelves of his store, muttering as he pulled down boxes here and there, adding them to a growing stack in his arms.

As the feisty little tape measurer attacked the circumference of her head, a bell jingled in the background and she turned to see Mr. Weasley renter. Only this time he wasn’t alone. Fred and George followed him in, laughing loudly.

“You okay, Sadie?” Mr. Weasley asked.

And suddenly, with the arrival of laughter and people she knew would never hurt her, Sadie found that she was. She nodded quickly, which caused the measuring tape to roll off in a huff.

“Now talk about a place that brings back memories!” exclaimed Fred, glancing around.

“Has it measured between your navel and left pinkie toe yet?” asked George with a grin, pointing to the busy little measuring tool.

Sadie blushed and ducked her head.

“Ah, here we go,” said Mr. Ollivander, coming back to the front of the shop and depositing his stack on the counter. “Surely one of these will be the perfect fit. Ready to try?”

Sadie gulped and felt the tremors return, but nodded. Mr. Weasley gave her an encouraging smile while the twins plopped down into chairs, as if waiting for a good show.

Mr. Ollivander opened one of the wooden boxes and pulled out a wand. 

“Chestnut wood and dragon heart-string, thirteen inches long, rigid,” he said. It was a deep brown color and glimmered with newness in the flickering light of the shop. Turning it around, he extended the larger end towards her.

Staring at that offered wand, it was as if time stood frozen for a moment. The shop, the old man, Mr. Weasley and the twins, they all disappeared from her awareness as a flash of clarity went off in her head. All those years, living in darkness and fear, scrambling to stay alive and sane, learning to fear magic and power and the pain it caused… She’d been forced to test her own magic, learn terrible things, but never with a wand. No, the wands had always been pointed _at_ her, not given to her.

Except suddenly, everything had changed. Mr. Ollivander was offering her so much more than just a wooden wand – he was actually extending freedom. Freedom from her past, freedom to eventually escape her fears, freedom to choose her own path and assure she would never have to go back _there_ again. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

With a trembling hand she grabbed the wand before she could change her mind and waited for the earth to shake or swallow her up.

Absolutely nothing happened.

“Nope, not that one,” Mr. Ollivander cried, sounding suddenly much more excited as he snatched the wand from her fingers. Another one was stuffed into her hand before she could blink.

“Willow and unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, slightly flexible. Try that.”

She gripped it out of reflex, staring at him with wide eyes. It was barely in her fingers for two seconds before he pulled it away as well and replaced it with a third one.

It went on for at least ten minutes. Sadie had no idea what exactly Mr. Ollivander was looking for, but the longer it took to find it the more delighted he seemed to become. 

Finally, a wand was slipped into her hand and immediately this one felt different. It warmed to her touch instantly, and she could feel the magic pulsing inside of it, as if it was calling to her. She curled her fingers around it and closed her eyes, letting the feeling wash over her. The power was there, but it wasn’t frightening. 

“And it appears you have been chosen, Sadie. Alder and unicorn hair, eleven inches long, unyielding,” Mr. Ollivander said, eyeing the wand proudly. “I don’t sell many alder wands,” he added thoughtfully, sweeping aside the unpicked wands and boxes. “It is a most peculiar wood, hard and unbending, but tends to seek out those who are its opposite. Once it chooses a match, a more loyal tool will rarely be found. Non-verbal spells are its specialty which –” he paused to give her a shrewd glance as if just noticing a detail for the first time “– will be most helpful, if I’m not mistaken.” * 

Sadie grew uncomfortable as he stared at her again for longer than needed, and she felt he was somehow trying to ferret out her secrets. She sighed with relief when Mr. Weasley broke the tension by stepping up to the counter.

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall have sent a note, asking that payment for the wand be extracted from the Hogwarts Scholarship fund…”

“Right, right,” the old man said, breaking his gaze and getting back to business. He gestured for Sadie to return the wand, which he carefully boxed back up and then handed to her. “Best of luck, my dear. May it serve you well.” She gripped it tightly and then turned and all but fled from the room.

The wet, noisy street outside was actually a relief after the stuffy strangeness of the magic-infused shop. She breathed in a huge gulp of air gratefully.

“Well, let’s see it then!” demanded a voice from her right. Sadie looked up to see the twins had followed her out while Mr. Weasley finished making arrangements with Mr. Ollivander.

Hesitantly, she opened the neat box and drew out her wand – _her wand_! It was unreal to think that! 

“Very nice,” said George appreciatively. “The old guy’s still got it, hasn’t he?”

“Do you like it?” added Fred, looking at her, his expression a little different from his brother’s. 

Sadie considered his words as she sized up the slight weight of her new wand in the palm of her hand. She studied it, taking in all the details she hadn’t had time to notice before. The sense of fear and apprehension she had expected to come with the acceptance of a wand wasn’t there. Just the opposite in fact – the little piece of wood felt right in her hand. It was as if something she hadn’t even realized was missing had just been returned.

With a smile, she looked up at Fred and nodded.

\--------  
* The qualities of Alder wood for wands were paraphrased from the description given by J.K. Rowling in her Pottermore discussion on wands.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

As usual, the nightmares came without warning, sweeping her away in their icy grips and tossing her violently from one image – one memory – to another. For a while she was lost, helpless against the onslaught, but finally she managed to fight and claw her way free. 

She sat up with a silent gasp, gripping the edges of her camp bed with bloodless fingers as she sucked in one ragged, dry breath after another in the inky blackness. 

It was a long time before she calmed enough to still the pounding in her ears. As her breath evened, she pried her cold hands open and wiped the slick sheen of tears from her cheeks before reaching for her glasses.

There would be no more sleep tonight.

Hermione moaned and rolled over, but neither she nor Ginny showed any signs of waking. With a quiet stealth born of years of practice, Sadie pulled on the jumper Mrs. Weasley had given her earlier, then snagged her new Sherlock Holmes book and started to slip from the room. She paused in the doorway, however, and tiptoed back, grabbing up her wand as well. It didn’t feel right to leave it behind, with no one to watch over it. The pockets of her nightdress were deep, so she stuffed it inside and continued out of the room. She would stop by the kitchen to find a drink of water, then curl up in the sitting room and try to push the night terrors back to the edges of her mind with a good dose of fiction.

*****

Fred hummed another verse of “Old MacDonald Had a Dragon” to himself as he puttered about the kitchen, pausing to stir the filling that bubbled happily on the cooker before going back to his work of cutting the lard into the pie crust. 

It was the wee hours of the morning but he couldn’t sleep. The secret he unwittingly stole was weighing heavily on his mind. He hated keeping it from George. He knew it wouldn’t be right to blab, but the guilt of shutting his twin out of something ate at him. Combine that with the burden of knowing something Sadie obviously didn’t want to share and his insides were a writhing mess. Who could sleep through that?

So he did what he always did when he had issues to work through – cooked.

He knew most people would be shocked to learn that the Great Fred Weasley, Dashing Entrepreneur, Trouble-Maker Extraordinaire, was also a good cook. But it’s not like they regularly broke into the kitchens just to steal food, nor was it coincidence that the first jokes they chose to market were sweets.

No, he had inherited his mother’s gift for cooking, and while it wasn’t a talent he chose to advertise, it was still something he enjoyed. Especially when he needed to think.

Plopping the dough for the crust onto the kitchen table, Fred threw a liberal sprinkling of flour over the top and proceeded to roll it out, switching up the tune he was humming to “A Magic Carpet Built for Two.” He was just about to perform the trick of maneuvering the crust from the table to the pie plate when he felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Someone was staring at him. 

It couldn’t be his mother. She would have already yelled at him for being out of bed, then moved over to taste his pie filling, offering a suggestion on what he could tweak to make it even better. They’d had many a heart to heart in the early hours of the morning over tarts and biscuits. 

He turned slowly to find a pair of curious, glasses-framed brown eyes gazing down at him through the railing of the stairs. Sadie sat on the top step, her knees pulled up into her nightgown and her forehead resting against the wood.

“Oooh, a spy!” he said with a grin. Sadie flinched backwards when he spoke. Fear crossed her face at being discovered, so he hurried on to put her at ease. “Do you like pie, little spy?” he asked, gesturing to the messy table. “A beautiful pie, made by…erm…I?” That last rhyme was a little lame, but it brought a timid smile to the corners of Sadie’s lips so he figured it still did the job.

Quiet as a mouse, she stood and finished creeping down the stairs until she was standing beside him in the kitchen. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders and he suddenly felt extremely tall. The lamp he’d placed in the center of the table illuminated her features and he took a moment to look her over. He noticed her face was ghostly white, but in some places the skin seemed blotchy and flushed with the faintest glint of fading moisture. She’d been crying not too long ago. It made him incredibly sad, but for her sake he chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the book clutched in her hands.

“Out for a little early morning reading are we?” he asked as he turned back to the pie crust he’d been working with.

Sadie nodded, but set the book aside on the table without opening it. Instead, as soon as her hands were free, she turned the question back on him with a pointed finger and a curious expression.

“Me? I’m making pie.”

Her response was the first time he’d ever seen her roll her eyes.

“So she gets snarky at three in the morning,” he laughed. “Good to know. Now, _why_ am I making pie at three in the morning?”

She nodded, her smile growing.

A typical, joking answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he surprised himself by going for honesty. “Sometimes, things just get stuck in my head, y’know, all mushed up together like guests at a wild party. Gets so loud in there, I can’t sleep. Cooking helps me sort it all out.” He gave a shrug, not at all sure that made any sense, but Sadie gave him a startled, knowing look and nodded.

On the cooker, the pie filling let out a gloopy bubble, reminding him it was there. “Could you give that a quick stir?” he asked, his hands still covered in dough.

She nodded a third time and he went back to his crust as she moved away. Ever so careful he folded the bottom crust into fourths, picked it up and slid it into the plate, then meticulously unfolded it. 

_Perfectimundo!_

Which really wasn’t a word, but deserved to be and best described the amazing cooking feat he’d just pulled off. Not even a crack or a little tear. He turned to get the filling only to find Sadie standing there, waiting with the pot already in her hands. He moved back and she poured it in, carefully wiping the last drips off the edge of the enamel with the spoon.

“Not bad,” he said. “I do believe this is not the first time you have baked a pie is it, Miss Sadie?”

With a smile she shook her head. 

“Though probably your first at half-past-three in the morning.” While he talked he placed the top crust on the steaming filling, then cut off the extra and crimped the edges. “And, behold!” he held up the pie, showing off the large W cut into the top. “The Perfect Pie.”

Sadie laughed, but when he went to put it to bake, she stopped him. Grabbing up the cinnamon and sugar shakers she sprinkled on a little of both. He grinned at her, then shoved the creation in the oven and closed the door.

“And now comes the excruciating wait for the sugary goodness to cook,” he said with a melodramatic sigh, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs and staring morosely at the stove. “Y’know I tried a spell once, to speed things up with this part, eliminate the waiting… Guess how much a new cooker costs? Birthday and Christmas money for almost three years.”

The red-haired girl smiled at him, but she didn’t sit. Instead her fingers crept back toward her book as the shy, nervous look started to reclaim her features. 

She was going to leave. Take her book and go. Fred wasn’t sure if it was because of the awkwardness of spending twenty minutes alone with him in silence while a pie baked, or if she sincerely wanted to get back to her reading, but he suddenly knew he couldn’t let her. The secret he held burned inside him, and if he didn’t do something about it soon, it would spill out into the light of day. He couldn’t risk that – a cavalier slip of the tongue – not when Sadie was already so skittish. This secret was far too big and emotionally raw for her. He couldn’t treat it with his usual lack of restraint. An action like that would break the fragile trust he’d gained and most likely frighten her off for good. 

Unintentional though it was, he’d invaded the privacy of her soul and taken something from her. He knew he had to fix that.

His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist softly just as she started past him. “Sadie, wait,” he said quietly.

She stopped, turning tired and puzzled eyes on him.

“Don’t leave. I…well I need to tell you something.” Still gripping her arm, he gently swung her over to another kitchen chair.

 _What?_ her eyes asked as she sat down slowly.

He gulped, not sure how to start. Fred Weasley prided himself on never being at a loss for words, but here in his mother’s kitchen at half-past three in the morning while the scent of baking cherries floated around him and timid, brown eyes gazed at him expectantly, he found himself hesitating.

“The other night…in the forest…” he started, wincing as Sadie visibly flinched again and drew back. “When you ran off, and I followed and grabbed you…you were seeing something horrible, weren’t you? A memory?”

Sadie started to tremble as he finished asking, her eyes wide and wounded like a frightened animal. After a few seconds, she gave a nod so slight he almost missed it.

The aroma of the baking pie drifted up from the stove, warm and cheery. Such a contrast to the topic Fred hated himself for having to bring up. Still, he’d started…it would do no one any good to retreat now.

“Well…I don’t quite know how to say…and I’m not at all sure how it happened…I sure as heck didn’t mean to…” He broke off. _Oh stop muttering like a nutter and just spit it out, Fred_ , he chastised himself. “Sadie, I saw it. I saw your memory, of what happened to your family,” he finished quietly.

Shock washed across her pale face and she just sat there, staring at him – frozen in place. The silence and the intensity of her gaze unnerved him.

“I’m sorry,” he blundered on hastily. “I know that’s something so personal, and I had no business seeing it, or knowing about it, and I still don’t know how it even happened, but…I…well, I couldn’t go around pretending that I _hadn’t_ seen it, because I stole it and you didn’t even know.” 

Fred trailed off, running out of words to say, especially as he watched two small tears crest her eyes and run down her trembling cheeks. The same pained expression she had worn in the woods was back on her face. His gut twisted to see her anguish.

“Sadie, I promise, I will never tell anyone about that memory, not even George. And I tell George _everything_ ,” he said with total seriousness.

Suddenly, Sadie stood and just slipped quickly from the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs.

Fred sighed and let his head drop into his hands. He sat there sadly for a moment before glancing sideways at the book she’d left behind. He pulled it over, thumbing through it absently. Just hours earlier, while they’d been in the Alley, she’d finally seemed a little bit happy, and now he’d just ruined it all.

“Way to go, Weasley,” he berated himself under his breath as he stood and went to the stove. A quick check of the pie told him it still had a few minutes left, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to lean against the counter while he waited, only to find Sadie was back. Clutching her notebook, she stood at the base of the steps, pale and trembling. She sucked in a deep breath and sat back down at the table, opening her notebook and writing hesitantly.

Fred returned to his seat, renewing his resolve to hurry up on the project George and he had been working on.

With vulnerability filling her eyes, Sadie pushed the notebook over to him. Curiously, her handwriting was scraggly and uneven, like that of a much younger kid.

 _I’m sorry. That you saw that._

“I’m sorry that you lived that,” he answered quietly, hoping she believed him.

_I try to forget that day. Bury it._

Fred nodded as he read. He would probably do the same thing.

_Sometimes I forget too well. Sometimes I can’t remember what they looked like. What their voices sounded like._

He didn’t know what to say to that. To have everyone you ever loved be gone and not even have a photograph to remember them by.

“Why did I see it, though?” he asked after a moment of silence, really curious. He’d never heard of something like that happening before, sharing memories between two people without any sort of magical instrument to help out.

For a long moment, Sadie just looked at him, her eyes seeming to scrutinize him down to his very bones. Finally, she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned over, writing hesitantly.

 _There are some magical gifts that run in my dad’s side of the family._

“And you have one?” he asked. 

She nodded. _Mine is connected to thoughts and feelings – memories – images that have happened, and sometimes ones that still might._

“Legilimency?” asked Fred, a little wary. He’d read about that, and while it seemed cool, it also sorta gave him the creeps. He was pretty sure he didn’t want anyone besides himself rifling through the contents of his brain.

Sadie shook her head. _No, it’s different than that. It’s…_ She paused, seeming frustrated with her inability to communicate what she was trying to tell him. Instead, she timidly reached out and clasped his hand, then squeezed her eyes shut.

Suddenly, a scene floated into his mind, like a puff of smoke growing to fill a room. At first it was hazy and washed out, but it quickly sharped.

_Golden sunlight, warm and bright, lit the yard of a weathered farmhouse filled with squealing kids. Armed with buckets, hoses, and anything else that would hold water, they ran and slipped through the grass, drenching each other with gusto. Some sported dark hair, others bright red, but they were all obviously siblings, and having a blast with each other._

Just as quickly as it had come, the image disappeared, and Fred was staring at Sadie’s timid face once again as she pulled her small hand away. A million questions about what had just happened raced through his head at once, jumbling up and banging at him to ask, but he managed to hold them in. Deep conversations about the mysteries and how-the-heck’s of magic could wait until they were on even ground in the communication department.

“Your siblings?” he asked instead, smiling gently.

She nodded, then leaned over and wrote, _To replace the other memory._

He was still thinking how to respond to that when he realized there was a new smell filling the kitchen, one not nearly as pleasant as the aroma of baking cherries.

“Oh, crap, the pie!” he cried, jumping up. He grabbed a potholder and yanked the oven door down, reaching in to snatch his creation to safety. It came out golden brown and steaming, but unharmed. Some of the filling had simply bubbled out and spilled to the bottom of the oven, causing the horrible burning smell. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “Thought we’d lost it there for a second, but it’s all good. So,” he said, turning with a flourish, “you ready for a piece of the most spectacular pie in…” He trailed off as he realized he was speaking to an empty room. Sadie, her notebook, pencil, and novel, were gone, as if they’d never been there at all.

“Masterful escape there, Sadie McLauchlin,” he said quietly, setting the pie on the table and cooling it to eatable temperature with a quick flick of his wand. “At least a nine. She’s definitely got skills. Gonna have to remember that.” He shook his head, his smile a little sad and regretful. Grabbing an extra plate and a square of Pastyparch, he carefully cut an extra-large slice of cherry goodness and piled it on the plate, labeling it simply _For Sadie_. Then he grabbed the rest and a fork from the drawer and wandered off to enjoy, his mind full of a thousand new thoughts, but still somehow lighter than it had been for days.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Harry thought that Sadie looked tired at breakfast the Sunday before they were to leave for school. She sat at the table in the tepid light that managed to fight its way through the streaming rain outside and filter in through the window, toying with a bit of leftover toast. As he watched his cousin, he was struck by the strange bubble of isolation that seemed to envelop her. All around, the loud chaos of the Burrow filled the kitchen but somehow she went untouched by it, alone in her silence. 

Guilt crept up through Harry. Sadie and he had circled each other shyly this last week, not quite sure how to act. He was certainly excited to have a cousin and he wanted to get to know her, but he wasn’t sure how to start. It was easy to get distracted by Ron and Hermione and the worry they all felt as they waited to hear from Sirius. Except now they would be heading to Hogwarts tomorrow and he shamefully realized he could barely understand his cousin any better than the first time they met. 

He vowed to fix that.

Still, it took him another hour to give it a try. 

*****

“Hey.”

Sadie looked up from the spell book she’d been leafing through at the greeting as Harry sat down on the sofa next to her. Hesitantly, she gave him a little wave back.

An awkward silence settled for a moment as he tried to get his brain and mouth to cooperate. _“I want to learn more signs”_ his mind suggested, or _“Sorry I haven’t gotten to know you like I should have”_ or even _“Hey, cousin, let’s talk.”_ But, when he finally opened his lips, what he found himself blurting out was:

“How come I never knew about you?”

It came out accusatory, and he had a sudden insight of personal revelation. He was hurt, and he hadn’t even realized it. Hurt by the fact that he’d had an aunt and uncle and whole bunch of cousins that were alive, for at least seven years of his childhood, and they’d never once tried to contact him, check up on him, see how he was. He wanted to get to know Sadie, but he’d been harboring this small bit of resentment inside and hadn’t even known until this moment when it just slipped out.

“How come your mum and dad never wrote to me?”

Sadie’s eyes narrowed in slightly-stung confusion, his blunt questions startling her enough she answered instinctively with her hands. They flew in a series of rapid motions he had no hope of understanding.

“I’m sorry…I don’t get what…” he muttered, his guilt tripling.

Her teeth clenched in what looked like frustration before she glanced around, finding her notebook on the side table. She snatched it up and then dug for her stubby pencil in her pocket.

_She did. Mum wrote a letter to you once a month, every month, until –_

_We all did. I remember sending you pictures I colored and leaves I pressed. You never wrote back. It made her cry._

Harry’s jaw dropped. _What?_ He’d never received any letters from family far off in America! He would have remembered that, kept them close, written back. In fact, he’d never received any post at all until that fateful letter he’d had to fight tooth and nail to open when he was eleven…

He suddenly swore harshly, not even caring if Mrs. Weasley heard, his eyes narrowed and his fists tight, as understanding hit him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They’d taken his letters, thrown them away without him even knowing they’d existed. Purposefully kept another part of his life hidden from him out of spite and malice. 

It made him furious. It was a good thing he was miles away or he knew he would have been breaking the stupid Underage Magic Decree in a big way. 

Sadie was staring at him apprehensively and he blew out his breath, trying to shove the intense anger aside.

“My aunt and uncle – the ones I live with – they hate magic. And me,” he added truthfully. “They lied to me about how my parents died, didn’t even tell me I was a wizard, and just basically love finding ways to keep me miserable. They must have taken the letters and hid them or threw them away. I never even knew you sent any.”

Her eyebrows rose and she nodded, before scribbling again on the notebook.

 _That makes sense now. I always wondered why you never wrote back._

Then she added a line underneath that read: _I’m sorry they aren’t very nice to you._

“Eh,” Harry said with a shrug, not at all in the mood for a conversation about his home life with the Dursleys. “At least I only have to stay with them for a few months each year. That’s much better than it used to be.”

Sadie nodded, fidgeting with the notebook in her hands as though not sure what else to say which caused Harry to remember the original purpose of this conversation.

“So, Sadie, how about we start this over?”

Her face twisted in the universal “huh?” expression and he grinned, sticking out his hand.

“Hi, Sadie. I’m Harry Potter, your cousin. I’ve been a bit of a git this week and have been kind of avoiding you, but I really am excited to have a relative that doesn’t curse my very existence, so I was hoping maybe we could be friends?” 

She blinked at him for a few seconds before she started silently laughing, the first time he’d ever seen her do that, and then reached out to shake his offered hand.

*Hi* she signed, followed by a bunch of fast, one handed motions. She then gestured to herself and signed a few more fluid ones with both hands.

“Wait, did you just…spell out my name?” he asked. “Followed by signing your own?”

She nodded, grinning. 

“You…introduced yourself, just like I did!” he cried triumphantly. 

She nodded again.

“But why did you spell my name instead of signing it?”

She turned to the notebook to answer this time. 

_Because you don’t have a name sign yet._

“Oh. Well, how do I get one?”

_Someone gives it to you, or you pick one for yourself._

“Cool,” Harry said, returning her grin before letting his expression become more serious. “I want to learn this, Sadie. I want to be able to understand what you say, without you having to stop and write it down. Will you sign things, before you write them, so I can start trying to catch on? Please?”

Her eyes searched his, as if scanning his soul, before she ducked her head slightly and nodded, shyness creeping back in.

“LUNCH TIME!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice suddenly bellowed from the kitchen, filling the whole house like…well, like magic. “Come and get it now or I’m posting it to needy children in Africa if you don’t!”

They looked at each other for a moment before bursting out in snorts of laughter again.

“She probably really would,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s go. You can teach us all more while we eat.”

*****

As Sadie sat in the living room with everyone the night before they were supposed to leave for school, she found herself reluctant to have the evening end. Rain still poured down outside but in the room a cozy fire roared, keeping it pleasantly toasty. Everyone was relaxed and enjoying each other’s company. She sat on a pile of pillows in the corner with a book, perfectly content to just quietly be part of it all. It struck her that she really had come to love this Burrow and the crazy people that inhabited it.

Hermione’s huge cat Crookshanks wandered over and stared at her for a moment. She held her fingers out and he sniffed them, before deeming her acceptable and climbing on top of her book to lay claim to her lap. Smiling, she gave up on reading and instead ran her fingers through his long, ginger fur. A contented purr soon rumbled up from him and she leaned back against the wall, feeling completely safe for the first time in seven years.

Mr. Weasley returned from the office and the conversation ebbed and flowed around her. She really didn’t pay it any mind, even when Hermione and Percy’s words got a little heated, until Mrs. Weasley started to shoo them all off to pack and Mr. Weasley stopped her.

“Wait, Molly. We need to discuss a few things while everyone is here. About Harry and Sadie,” he said and that finally caught her attention.

“What things?” Harry asked, throwing a glance her direction as he sat back down with his broomstick kit, his Firebolt leaning against him.

“It’s just that, while everyone in this room knows the two of you are cousins, it might be…ah…wise to keep that knowledge from spreading.”

Sadie wrinkled her forehead in confusion at the same time Ron blurted out, “Why?”

It was Harry that answered, sounding bitter. “Because of me, right? Because Voldemort and his supporters are still out there, and knowing Sadie’s related to me could put her in danger, huh?”

A shiver crawled up her spine at the mention of Lord Voldemort’s name. She knew who that was, had heard the name spoken in reverence and respect, and sometimes even jealousy, more times than she could remember while she cowered in the shadows. What she didn’t know was why the Dark Lord would be interested in her cousin. She looked over at Harry, her eyes drawn to the strange scar on his forehead, and she realized that other than the facts her parents had told her years ago – that his own parents had died when he was a baby and he’d been left alone – she really didn’t know much about him. 

“Well, yes,” Mr. Weasley admitted reluctantly. “But it’s more than just that. We just feel that…well…” He gazed at her apologetically for a moment before turning back to the rest of the room. “Things are going to be difficult enough for Sadie, showing up out of nowhere to start in Forth Year, two years behind, and being unable to talk. She doesn’t need the added scrutiny she would undoubtedly attract if everyone knew she was your cousin, Harry.”

Sadie blushed, hanging her head. For the millionth time she wished she wasn’t like this, broken and useless, messed up in more ways than anyone even knew. 

“Oh,” she heard Harry say.

“So, what do we say, when people ask, because you know they will?” Hermione asked.

“A different truth. That Sadie is our goddaughter and has come to live with us now,” Mr. Weasley answered softly.

 _Wait, what?_

She pulled her gaze back up from Crookshank’s fur in surprise, meeting the kind eyes of her father’s best friend. He was smiling at her gently.

“We’re your godparents, Sadie.” 

_Godparents?_ she thought, reeling slightly. _What did that mean? What did godparents do? Did she have to change her last name?_ It was all so confusing and there was so much she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. She clenched her fists as around her the conversation continued, leaving her and her questions behind, as usual.

“So, can we count on everyone to help keep this secret for a while, at least until Sadie and Harry are ready for people to know?”

Everyone nodded, and then Mrs. Weasley was shooing them all off to pack before bed. Sadie pushed a reluctant Crookshanks off her lap and stood with the rest, still reeling. The kind woman pulled her into a small hug, smiling at her happily, and Sadie tried to return the expression before trudging off after the others robotically. 

She didn’t have a trunk to pack – most of the new things Professor McGonagall had purchased for her were already at the school – so once her belongings were returned to the borrowed carpet bag, she just sat on the camp bed watching the other two girls. Suddenly, there was a knock on the doorframe and Bill stuck his head in.

“Laundry service,” he called cheerfully, bringing in a basket full of freshly folded clothes.

“Since when do you do laundry?” Ginny scoffed.

“Since I offered to carry it up the stairs for Mum,” he replied, smugly.

Ginny rolled her eyes, then started sorting the piles of clean clothes out on the correct beds.

“Sadie,” Bill said, turning toward her. “Come here for a second, would you?” He gestured toward the hall, smiling again.

Curious, she rose to her feet and followed him out of the room.

“Here,” he said, handing her a very thick book. “This is for you. It just came by owl. I was really hoping it would get here before you lot left for Hogwarts.”

She took it, turning it over and studying the cover, reading the gilded writing.

_American Sign Language for the Witch or Wizard: A Comprehensive Reference._

She looked up at him in surprise.

“I had a colleague from the States help me out. I figured it would be useful for all of us. You said yourself that you’re still learning, and I imagine that Muggle library didn’t cover any of the signs related to the wizarding world that you’ll need to know. Plus, it can help the rest of us learn faster.”

For the second time in ten minutes, Sadie was stunned. Even if she could speak, she wouldn’t have known what to say.

“Let me show you how it works,” he said, understanding her silence. He took it and opened the book to a random spot. 

Each page was divided into six boxes. Inside each box was a word and the image of a woman or man dressed in neutral black robes, his or her hands hanging loosely down. Bill pulled his wand out and touched the tip to the right corner of one of the squares. Immediately, it enlarged to cover the entire page and the image inside sprang to life, going through the motions to sign the indicated word.

“You can tap it two or three times to increase the speed of the demonstration, and then touch the left corner when you want it to shrink back down.”

Sadie knew her jaw was hanging open, but she couldn’t help it. It was magnificent! So many words to use! That everyone could learn! Right there forever, where she wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting them!

Bill closed the book again, returning it to her trembling hands. With tears filling her eyes, she hugged it to her with one hand before signing, *Thank you!*

“You’re welcome,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “And I really do mean it. If school starts to get you down, or you just need a big brother to talk to, send me an owl. I’m excited to have another younger sister.”

He was so much like Archie it made her heart ache, and she honestly couldn’t tell if the tears she was trying to hold back were from joy or sorrow. Suddenly, not quite sure what made her do it, she stepped forward and gave the oldest Weasley brother a short hug. Then, knowing she couldn’t keep the moister from cresting her eyes any longer, she darted off toward the lavatory.


End file.
